Missing in Action
by Ian Otter
Summary: (Human-Covenant War) After two months on the frontline fighting the Covenant, Corporal Moss Shen and his squad were counting on some well-earned R&R. Unfortunately, the Covenant weren't so considerate. Embroiled in a fight for their lives once more, they'll soon find out that the survival of a simple colony isn't the only thing at stake…
1. Prologue

Hello, and welcome to the story!

Before we begin, there are a couple quick things I'd like to take note. First, to prevent confusion, a couple things about the setting of this story that I wasn't able to put in the summary. For those of you who aren't interested in reading through this note, please skip to the bottom of the summary.

This story takes place in May of **2545** , 7 years before the events of _Halo: Reach_. The characters in this story are soldiers of the UNSC Army and, for the most part, all OCs. There are no (major) Spartans.

A couple disclaimers: I've tried to keep this story grounded with some semblance of realism, while at the same time, maintaining a sort of video game feel. The problem is, I am neither a soldier, nor am I writing with the games in front of me. All information regarding Halo comes from either memory, or two websites, Halopedia and Halo Wikia. I've changed some things for the sake of the story, however I've tried to stay true to canon as much possible. So, if you see any mistakes, please let me know and I'll either try to justify it, or change it as soon as possible.

Second, the depiction of military life is based on research I've done in regards to the US military, specifically to the US Army. Thus, if things seems a bit odd or abnormal to what you are used to, it may have something to do with that. However, as stated above, if you see any mistakes, please let me know.

Thank you for stopping by, and I hope you enjoy.

TL;DR: **7 years before Halo: Reach, UNSC Army, All OCs, No Spartans.**

* * *

 **Prologue**

 **Hill 937** (1) **, Osaka Prefecture, Newsaka  
** **April 20, 2545, SMC (Standard Military Calendar)  
0030Juliet (Local Time)**

His feet were wet.

That's all Corporal Moss Shen could focus on. It seemed ridiculous, even to him, to focus on that one aspect considering his entire body was soaking wet, but he couldn't help it. Ever since he had learned about tropical immersion foot, Moss had been paranoid about keeping his feet dry. It hadn't been an easy task. In the two months since his division had been deployed to this part of Newsaka to fight off the Covenant invasion, Moss could probably count on one hand the amount of days it hadn't been raining. Then again, Moss supposed that was to be expected. There had to be a reason why these woods were also known as _**rain**_ forests.

Still, despite the rain, Moss had done his best to keep his feet dry. When his jump boots, designed with reinforced toe caps and calf-length lacing for increased ankle support, disintegrated due to jungle conditions and the constant moisture, Moss managed to locate a soldier attached to one of the specialized jungle units assigned to this colony who was willing to sell him a pair of genuine jungle boots. The boots were a half size too big, but to Moss that just meant he was able to wear thicker socks with them.

When his olive drab tube socks had literally rotted off his feet, Moss took his army issued poncho, which at that point had been shredded by shrapnel, rendering it all but useless for rain repellant, and converted it into footwraps. Having worn socks all his life, it had taken Moss quite a few tries to figure out how to fold the footwraps properly. Ultimately, Moss had ended up tracking down, of all things, a UNSC Army field manual to learn how to make them perfectly. But it had been worth it as it had meant Moss no longer needed to worry about running out of socks in the field.

But the most important thing Moss did was that, no matter how busy he was or how bad the fighting got, he made sure to take at least five minutes every single day to inspect, clean, and then massage his feet. It had been a pain in the ass but it had been worth it. Moss was proud to say he was the only soldier in his platoon, maybe even his entire brigade, to not be suffering from some sort of foot ailment.

Of course, being forced to sit in a god-knows-what infested puddle of meter deep mud for three hours straight had probably ruined all that.

Moss mentally sighed. He understood the need for him to sit there, waiting. The Covenant invasion force was at a tipping point, the UNSC having checked their momentum at every turn. But they hadn't broken just yet. Capturing the Covenant stronghold at the top of this hill would change that. But sitting in a muddy hole for hours upon end, waiting for the UNSC distraction force to maneuver into position, was not something Moss was accustomed to. He was a paratrooper. As a member of the expeditionary force of the UNSC Army, Moss had been trained with an emphasis on quick movement, daring maneuvers, and offensive action. He was not trained to wait in a hole like some damn straight leg(2). Still, he supposed it could have been worse: his unit could have been assigned to support the distraction task force.

Moss didn't envy the task force. Marching straight into Covenant guns, even if it did consist of three Jungle Divisions backed by two Armored Brigade Combat Teams, was about as close to a suicide mission a soldier could receive without it actually being a suicide mission. At least his mission, waiting aside, allowed him to sneak up on the Covenant, giving him a fighting chance.

Then again, the distraction force didn't have to sit in a muddy hole for hours upon end in complete silence, getting slowly eaten alive by insects.

Moss very slowly and very carefully, as to not attract any attention, reached up and pulled something slimy off the side of his neck. He hoped to hell it was just a soggy leaf and not another damn leech, or whatever passed for leeches on this damn planet, but Moss knew he wasn't that lucky. Glad he was wearing gloves, Moss crushed it, just to be safe. As he did, water droplets began to fall onto him and he looked up to see it had started raining. Again.

The sound of rumbling accompanied the rain and initially, Moss dismissed the sound as that of a thunderclap. However, when the rumbling failed to fade away and instead, began to grow in intensity, Moss realized he was in fact listening to artillery fire. It took him a few moments to pinpoint the direction it was coming from, but once he accomplished that, Moss was quickly able to identify the source: the distraction force had begun their attack. Finally.

Reaching down, Moss grabbed a hold of his MA37 assault rifle and shook off the mud that was coating the upper receiver. Performing a quick chamber check to make sure the mud hadn't gone down the barrel, Moss reached up to activate the thermal optical setting of his shooting glasses. The effectiveness of thermals was somewhat limited in the confines of a forest due to the sheer amount of ambient heat the environment emitted, but Moss always felt navigating with thermals was easier than with night vision. As he fumbled with his glasses, his radio cracked to life.

" _All units, this is White Knight."_ Moss recognized the voice as belonging to Captain Leopold Rabinowitz, commanding officer of Quebec Company, the infantry company Moss and his squad had been assigned to support. _"We're moving out shortly. I don't have to remind you all what's at stake here. We've all been briefed and most of you already know what to expect from the Covenant. So I'll just say this instead: maintain a five meter spacing between the troopers next to you and keep the noise to a minimum. Remember, we're trying to sneak up on the Covenant. Keep your heads down and I'll see you all at the top. White Knight, out."_

There was a mute _click_ as Rabinowitz fell silent. He was quickly replaced by Sergeant Ferguson, Moss' squad leader. _"Alright ladies and gentlemen,"_ Ferguson announced over the squad's dedicated SQUADCOM channel. _"You heard the man. We move, five meter spread, no noise. If you got to say something, use SQUADCOM but keep the channel clear of all non-essential traffic. I'm talking to you Griffin."_

Another voice joined the line. _"Ooh, called out by the old man,"_ Private Job Griffin said with a laugh.

" _Yeah, like that,"_ Ferguson drily replied. _"Don't do that. At all. Good luck Sappers."_

There was a short, shrill whistle, barely audible over the sound of the rain.

" _All units, move out,"_ Moss heard Rabinowitz order.

Hauling himself to his feet, Moss pulled himself out of the hole that had been his hiding spot for the last few hours and began his climb up the hill.

The forest was quiet. That was the first thing Moss noticed as he advanced up the hill. Aside from the explosions in the distance and the slight squeaking noise his saturated boots made every time he took a step, the forest was completely devoid of animal noises, as was typical of moments before a firefight. It always marveled Moss; it seemed no matter what planet he was on, animals always seemed to know when violence was imminent and when to make themselves scarce. It was like all creatures had some innate sense for danger and Moss always wondered why humans seemed to lack that instinct. Or perhaps they did and humans were just too stupid to listen to it?

Biology questions soon gave way to concentration to the task at hand. The steep angle of the hill meant the climb was difficult by itself, but the situation was exasperated by the rainwater and mud that coated the hillside, making the ground extremely slippery. While there were plenty of exposed roots and rocks for footholds, it hardly mattered as the soles of Moss' boots were coated in mud, leaving him no treads for traction. Moss found he was forced to constantly juggle his rifle between his hands in order to free up his grip for support. The sound of his own ragged breathing quickly filled his ears.

" _Damn,"_ Griffin abruptly said over the radio after several long minutes of heavy travel, making Moss jump. _"If I wanted to fight in the mountains, I would have joined a mountain unit."_

" _Griffin, what'd I fucking say?"_ Ferguson snapped.

" _Right, shutting up."_

Despite himself, Moss couldn't help but chuckle in agreement with Griffin's comment. This wasn't quite the rosy picture his recruiter had painted him when he enlisted a year ago. He stumbled as the rock under his foot suddenly gave way, but managed to catch himself on a branch nearby.

" _All units, hold!"_

Rabinowitz's voice, laced with urgency, suddenly sounded over the radio. Moss glanced to the side to see Rabinowitz holding up a closed fist. Moss carefully dropped to one knee, curious as to what the holdup was.

" _Forward scouts report possible enemy movement to our eleven and twelve o'clock positions,_ " Rabinowitz reported and Moss felt his blood run cold. _"Find cover and assume defensive positions, over."_

Letting out a string of curses under his breath, Moss ducked behind a nearby tree. Flicking the safety off, Moss brought his rifle up to his eye line and began scanning the hillside. Questions flooded his mind. What type of movement did the forward scouts see? Had their positions been compromised? Did the Covenant know what was going on? Were Moss and his comrades about to walk into an ambush? Or was this one giant false alarm? Moss hoped it was, but he was mentally preparing himself for the worst.

The minutes ticked by. Moss could feel his heart racing as he carefully studied every spot and possible hiding place in front of him. Sweat and rain was rolling down his face and into his eyes, causing a burning sensation, but Moss dare not reach up to wipe it away, least the Covenant chose that exact moment to attack. Moss felt like he was crouched on a network of high tension wires. Every shadow could be hiding a Brute or a Grunt. Every twitch of a leaf could potentially be a Jackal sniper zeroing in on his position. Even the soft _pit patter_ of rain could be hiding the footsteps of an approaching Skirmisher.

" _Corporal Moss, what are we looking for?"_

Moss nearly had a heart attack at the unexpected question. Without thinking, he glanced down at his radio to figure out who had spoken. It was One(3), his fireteam's rookie. Private… McElroy? Moss really couldn't remember the soldier's name, the kid having been assigned to the squad less than two days ago.

Before Moss could fully recover, someone else answered One's query.

" _Look for the Covenant you dumb fuck,"_ Private First Class Piper "Pip" Poblede snapped.

Moss couldn't help but sigh at Pip's abrasiveness. She never liked One, especially after he inadvertently insulted her the first time they met. Still, now was not the time.

"Pip, shut up," Moss hissed into his radio. "McElroy, look for anything suspicious or out of place. You see anything, you let me know, otherwise, keep your mouth shut and keep quiet."

" _Roger that Corporal,"_ One replied. _"Oh, and my name is McTavish, not McElroy."_

Moss sighed. "Private, get off the fucking radio."

Shaking his head in annoyance, Moss muted his microphone and brought his rifle back up to his shoulder.

 _Thud._

For a few precious seconds, all Moss could do was stare stupidly at the Spike Grenade that had seemingly sprout out from the tree next to him. Then his eyes widened.

"GRENADE!" he screamed as he hurtled himself away.

There was a brilliant white flash that left spots in Moss' vision and he unexpectedly found himself flying through the air. He managed to travel a few meters before his impromptu flight was abruptly ended by an inconveniently placed tree. Hitting the trunk with enough force to tear chunks of bark off, Moss was unceremoniously deposited at the base. With his head spinning and his body feeling like he'd just been run over by a Warthog utility vehicle, all Moss could do was lay there among the roots, letting the warm rain wash over his face while he tried to remember how to breathe.

Moss wasn't given long to recover as almost instantly, two Covenant Skirmishers, appearing as purple figures through his thermals, came charging out from the trees, plasma pistol blazing. Moss could hear the sizzling of water as the bolts impacted the mud around him, the superheated plasma causing the muddy water to boil.

Pushing himself against the roots to try and make himself a smaller target, Moss shouldered his rifle. Sighting the nearest Skirmisher, Moss slammed the safety off and pulled the trigger. His first shot came as a surprise to him. Moss had forgotten he had already switched off the safety so instead of setting his rifle to semiautomatic fire, he had switched over to full auto. As a result, he was caught off guard by the recoil and his first burst flew right over the target Skirmisher's head, causing both aliens to dive for cover.

Biting back a curse, Moss quickly readjusted his grip on his rifle and reengaged his target. He managed to catch the Skirmisher mid-leap in the legs, causing him to come crashing back down to the ground, but before Moss could finish him off, Moss' body jerked as he was hit by a plasma bolt. Luckily the bolt hit the GUNGNIR pauldron he wore on his right shoulder, causing no discernable injury to his arm. As the plate began bubbling and melting, Moss ignored the warping metal and shifted right to engage the other Skirmisher. Unfortunately the Skirmisher had already sought refuge behind another tree and all Moss' burst of gunfire did was tear chunks of bark off.

The Skirmisher stuck his plasma pistol around the trunk and began blind firing in Moss' direction, leaving Moss at a distinct disadvantage as he was still out in the open. Firing one more burst at the Skirmisher to keep him pinned down, Moss darted around the tree he was crouched by, only to run smack into a Covenant Brute. The gorilla-like creature stared stupidly down at him and without thinking, Moss drove his fist into the Brute's stomach. The punch did absolutely nothing, bouncing off the Brute's thick fur and leaving Moss' hand smarting, the only thing that prevented his hand from breaking being the built-in plastic knuckle guards his gloves had. The Brute promptly backhanded him across the chest and Moss was knocked cleanly off his feet, flying back through the air a couple of meters.

Moss landed in the mud with a splash, and he let out a groan of pain as his battered body was assaulted again. He reached for his rifle, but it was gone, probably having fallen out of his hand mid-flight. He had no time to search for it as the Brute was beginning to draw a bead on him with his Spiker. With nothing left to do, Moss reached down and pulled out his standard issued M11 bayonet and scrambled to his feet. A knife fight against a six hundred kilogram alien was not a fight Moss could expect to win, but damned if he wasn't going down swinging. With blood pulsing in his ears, Moss charged at the Brute, hoping to catch him off guard. Anything to help swing the odds in his favor.

"MOSS GET DOWN!"

The scream snapped Moss out of his adrenaline induced battle haze and startled, Moss inadvertently tripped over his own feet. He slid through the mud, ending up at the Brute's feet. The Brute stared at him, his mouth splitting open in a grin, just as there was a _BLOOP_ from behind Moss and a 40mm high explosive dual-purpose grenade exploded against the Brute's chest. Moss reflexively shielded his head with his arms as white hot shrapnel rained down on him. Hissing in pain as the shrapnel cut through his sleeves, Moss lowered them in time to see the Brute staggering backwards, the creature's cyan cuirass armor now black with burns and blood leaking out from fresh holes in his upper torso. The Brute was far from mortally wounded though, but as he opened his mouth to roar his defiance, there was another _BLOOP_ and a grenade flew directly into his open mouth.

Moss couldn't help but flinch as a wave of hot blood and gore washed over him. The Brute's body, sans a head, swayed dangerously over him and Moss quickly stood up and pushed it backwards with his shoulder, least the heavy corpse topple forward and land on top of him.

Moss turned to see Pip with a smoking M319 grenade launcher in her arms, but movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. He turned to see the Skirmisher he had been fighting earlier leaning out from behind his tree, leveling his plasma pistol directly at Poblede, who was too busy reloading to notice.

"Pip! Contact, three o'clock!" Moss bellowed at her, but she didn't seem to hear him over the sound of all the gunfire.

Swearing violently, Moss charged and tackled her, knocking them both to the ground. As they landed, Moss could feel the heat of the plasma overcharge as it passed overhead, and he mentally crossed his fingers, hoping that the shot hadn't set his backpack on fire. A fire was probably not likely to cause a sympathetic detonation among all the explosives Moss had crammed in his backpack, but that was not a theory Moss was willing to test at the moment. Or at all.

Rolling off Poblede into a puddle of mud, just in case there was a fire, Moss reached down and pulled out the M6G magnum pistol he knew Poblede kept in a Tactical/Soft Case pouch on her right thigh. He leveled it at the Skirmisher, who had stepped out from behind the tree for a better angle, and pulled the trigger.

His first shot nailed the plasma pistol in the Skirmisher's hand. The plasma pistol sparked as the round punctured its housing and the green glow at the pistol's muzzle disappeared. Moss fired again, but his second shot missed the Skirmisher entirely as he was firing the pistol with his non-dominant hand and he was still reeling from the recoil of the first shot. Grabbing the magnum with both hands, Moss fired again. His third shot was much better aimed, catching the Skirmisher in his shoulder, blowing the Skirmisher's arm off entirely. Moss finished the job off by planting his fourth shot into the Skirmisher's chest, the explosive tipped 12.7mm round creating a cavity large enough for Moss to have put his fist through without once touching the sides.

"Come on, get up Pip!" Moss ordered, pulling Poblede to her feet as rounds began raining down around them. It was light stuff, plasma bolts and Spiker rounds. The radioactive green bolts left streaks in Moss' vision and while he couldn't see the Spiker rounds, he could hear the _CRACK_ of the sonic booms left in the wake as the supersonic spikes passed through the air. Despite the barrage, both he and Poblede somehow managed to make it to cover behind a fallen tree without getting hit.

"Fuck," Poblede spat out the moment they were safe. "Hey, are you okay? Did you get hit?" she queried as she reached up and pulled a piece of shrapnel out from Moss' CH252 combat helmet that had struck with enough force to stick, but not penetrate.

"No, I'm fine!" Moss replied. "Hey, I need a pistol mag!"

Without hesitation, Poblede whipped out a fresh pistol magazine and handed it over to him.

"Where's your rifle?" she asked as Moss ejected the partially loaded magazine from his handgun and stashed it into his pocket.

"Fuck if I know. What's our status? Where's Griffin? And One?" he asked as he reloaded.

"Sniper got One," Poblede bluntly reported. "Beam rifle." She leaned back and fired a grenade in the direction of the Covenant.

There was an explosion nearby and Moss ducked as they were showered with dirt. From the bush next to him, there was some rustling of leaves and Moss leveled his sidearm, only to lower it when Griffin emerged.

"Whoo! Man, it's popping off!" he announced as he threw himself to the ground next to Moss. He glanced over at Moss and did a quick double take. "Shit, what happened to you bro?"

"Got blown up," Moss said simply. "Don't worry, I'm green."

"Actually, I think you're kind of black right now," Griffin said, staring at Moss' chest.

Alarmed, Moss glanced down, only to realize Griffin was referring to the color of the chest plate of his M52B body armor. It had originally been painted an olive-drab green color to match the surrounding foliage, but between the grenade and the mud, it was now coated in soot, giving it a black color instead.

"Griffin," Moss said with a sigh. "Quit fucking around and find something to shoot at."

"Oh yeah, I guess I could do that," Griffin airily commented.

Shaking his head, Moss glanced over the tree to search for targets, only to feel his eyes widen at the sight of a fury blue ball flying in his direction.

"Grenade!" he hollered, ducking back down. He flinched as the surrounding area was lit up in a neon blue glow.

"Contact! Ten o'clock, twenty meters!" Poblede barked as the explosion died down.

Moss poked his head out of cover to look. Two Grunts and a Jackal were advancing through the woods, the Jackal with his turquoise energy shield extended in front of him. Knowing he didn't have enough ammo to disable the Jackal's shield, Moss leveled his sidearm at one of the Grunts and open fired, managing to hit the Grunt in the leg. The Grunt collapsed and Moss started to sight the second Grunt when a grenade from Poblede slammed into the Jackal. The Jackal's shield instantly disappeared and Moss quickly reprioritized, but a burst from Griffin's assault rifle downed the Jackal. Moss instead re-sighted the remaining Grunt, but the small alien dove into a nearby impact crater. Undeterred, Moss pulled an M9 fragmentation grenade from his belt and armed it.

"Frag out!" he called, hurtling the grenade. There was a small explosion, and Moss watched as pieces of Grunt armor flew through the air.

"Christ, how the fuck did they get so close?" Poblede demanded to know.

"I'm no genius," Griffin began, "but I'm pretty sure they used their legs."

Moss could practically hear Poblede rolling her eyes.

"You know what I fucking mean," she replied, exasperated.

Moss' radio suddenly crackled to life. _"Anyone from Team 2, this is Ferguson,"_ Ferguson called out. _"What is your status?"_

Moss keyed his microphone. "Hey Sergeant, this is Moss," Moss said. "Be advised, I have a KIA, Private... McElroy? Fuck, you know, our FNG."

" _Copy that Moss,"_ Ferguson calmly replied. _"Listen, I'm dropping a navigation point on my location. We're spread out too thin. I want you to take your team and consolidate on me."_

"Affirmative," Moss responded and waited until an orange arrow suddenly sprang into existence in the HUD of his shooting glasses. "Okay, I've got your navpoint, we're moving out."

Muting his microphone, Moss glanced over at Griffin and Poblede. "Hey, Ferguson wants us to consolidate on him," he reported. "Pip, you and me will go first. Griffin, you cover us. You guys ready?"

"Does it matter if I say no?" Griffin asked.

"Nope," Moss said simply. "Covering fire! Pip, let's move!"

Moss darted out from behind cover. Behind him, he could hear Griffin's assault rifle roared to life. Dashing through mud puddles and dodging explosions, Moss sprinted towards the area the navigation point was indicating, which was a large boulder that was jutting out from the ground. Sliding to safety, Moss took a moment to note that most of Team 1 was already there though Ferguson was nowhere in sight. Saving his questions for later, Moss planted himself at the edge of the boulder and brought his sidearm to bear.

"Griffin, set!" Moss reported into his headset. "Poblede, cover up!"

Poking his head around the boulder, Moss began firing his magnum up the hill, not really sure what he was shooting at, but not really caring either. He kept firing until Griffin came bounding out of the darkness.

"What up bitches?" Griffin called out in greet as he casually strolled behind cover. As he did, he accidently bumped into Private Bashir. Bashir shot up to his feet.

"Watch it bud," he barked.

Griffin whirled on him. "Who you calling bud, pal?"

"Who _you_ calling pal, friend?"

"Who **you** calling…(4)"

"Knock it off you two," Corporal Shin ordered as both Griffin and Bashir started laughing uproariously. "Do you guys really have to go through the song and dance routine every time you see each other?"

"Seriously," Poblede added. "Go find a room. We aren't judging."

"Hey Corporal," Moss said, catching Shin's attention. "Where's Sergeant Ferguson?"

Specialist Lisbeth Norén spoke up. "He took our rookie to go get briefed by Captain Rabinowitz," she informed him.

"Where's yours by the way?" Shin interjected.

"Dead," Moss bluntly stated.

"Beam rifle got him," Poblede elaborated. "Took his head clean off." She shook her head. "How shitty is that? He didn't even last a full two days on the line."

"Why do you care? You didn't even like him," Moss pointed out.

"What, I can't marvel at the tragedy of the incident?"

Shin shrugged. "Shit happens. It sucks, but that's life on the frontline for you."

"Hey, better him than any of us, right?" Bashir suggested, nudging Griffin with his elbow.

"You said it bro," Griffin agreed.

The sound of splashing mud herald the arrival of Ferguson, with Two(5) in tow. Moss quickly moved to the side to allow them room behind the boulder.

"Hey Sergeant, what the fuck is going on?" Bashir demanded to know before Ferguson could get a word in. "We got to go! We can't let these guys get away!"

He stood up, as if to begin attacking the Covenant all by himself. Ferguson quickly grabbed him and pulled him back behind cover.

"Unless you want to get schwacked by friendly fire, I suggest you calm your tits Bashir," Ferguson ordered. "Captain Rabinowitz is calling in a mortar barrage directly in front of us, try and dislodge this Covenant picket patrol we've run into. Stovepipe boys are going to saturate the woods in front of us with HE for about five minutes, hopefully plaster all the Covenant between us and the objective. Once the mortar fire has lifted though, that's when we'll move Bashir. In the meantime, everyone get fucking ready!"

"Wait, wait!" Two abruptly called out, looking around. "Where the hell is McTavish?"

There was a long pause.

"Who the fuck is McTavish?" Bashir demanded to know.

"Well, let's think this through Bashir. Who's the only one missing from this picture? One is," Poblede commented. "You know, our fireteam's rookie?" she elaborated at Bashir's questioning look.

An irritated look passed over Two's face. "We have names you know."

"Yeah? Well, who the fuck wants to know them?" Bashir replied, sounding disinterested.

"You know, I knew a guy whose name was One," Griffin mused. "His birth mother named him and all his siblings in the order of their birth, just because she couldn't be bother to remember them." Griffin paused. "Which made it really confusing when she had twins." He shook his head before continuing. "You get what I'm telling you boyo?"

"Fuck you guys," Two snapped. "You don't know anything about me."

"That's because no one wants to," Shin pointed out. "You know how many replacements we've been through in the two months we've been here?"

"Guys, enough," Ferguson interjected. "Kid, word of advice. You want people to remember your name? Prove you're worth remembering. Until then, all of you, focus."

"Don't worry kid," Moss reassuringly told him. "I promise you, if you survive this battle, then you can tell us your name."

Any further conversation was interrupted by the sound of mortars shrieking overhead.

"Here come the guns!" Ferguson yelled. "Squad, take cover!"

Moss crouched down to make himself as small of a target as possible as the entire hillside lit up as a storm of 60mm infantry mortars pounded Covenant positions. Unable to fully suppress his curiosity, he risked raising his head to see what was going on. Despite being the weakest shells out of all the artillery pieces in the UNSC's arsenal, the 60mm mortar still contained enough explosive power to cause the very ground to rock and shake. The shells tore chunks of earth out of the ground, slashed branches, and in some cases, uprooted entire trees, leaving a tangled mess of interlocking branches, leaves, and mud. The sight was both terrifying yet encouraging, and it was clear to Moss he wasn't the only one who felt that way.

"Man," Moss heard Griffin say. "Artillery is fun. We should let these guys out more often."

"Nah man, we can't let the cannon cockers(6) have all the fun!" Bashir protested.

"Man, fuck that. They can go ahead and blow up the fucking hill for all I care," Shin retorted. "You hear that you redlegs(7)? Blow up the fucking hill so we can all go home!"

"That would be pretty cool to see," Poblede admitted. "But you know what would make this even better?"

"Some popcorn?" Griffin suggested.

"A hot bath?" Shin offered.

"Some fucking air support?" Two submitted.

"Well, yes to all of the above," Poblede admitted. "But I was actually think of some tanks. Get some Scorpion MBTs, watch them tear shit up."

"Tank beats everything(8)," Bashir agreed.

"Tanks would have never made it up this hill," Norén pointed out in a calm voice. "Too many obstacles."

"No, I know that. I'm just saying."

"Mortars are about to lift their fire!" Ferguson suddenly announced. "Check your weapons and stand by to advance!"

Moss pulled out his sidearm, missing the familiar feeling of his assault rifle and really wishing he had something more versatile than a mere pistol. The explosions in front of him seemed to reach a crescendo, before abruptly cutting out.

"Squad, follow me!" Ferguson yelled and darted out from behind the boulder.

"On your feet troopers!" Shin bellowed, following close behind. "While we've got the initiative! Go, go, go!"

The next thing Moss knew, he was picking himself off the ground, white noise filling his ears. Leaning over, he took a deep breath, trying to refilling his lungs, only to inhale a lungful of dust. Coughing, Moss waited for his hearing protection to unseal. He had enough experience to recognize when there had been a large explosion nearby and he did his best to remain calm. As his hearing returned, Moss could hear the sound of someone screaming in pain, and it took him a few moments to realize it was Bashir.

"Squad!" Moss hoarsely yelled. "Sound off!"

"Norén here."

"Roer!"

"Poblede, still alive!"

"Well, that was fun." Griffin, of course.

"Bashir. Shit, I'm hit!"

"Pip, go check on Bashir," Moss ordered. "Corporal? Sergeant? Status!"

A weak voice sounded over the radio. _"Shin here. Me and Ferguson are hit. We're down in front of the boulder."_

Moss glanced around the boulder and spotted Shin and Ferguson's prone bodies. "Norén, Griffin, help me!" Moss ordered. He darted out and grabbed a hold of Shin, dragging her back to cover while Norén and Griffin grabbed Ferguson. After a moment of hesitation, Moss darted back out to retrieve their abandoned rifles from the ground.

Disabling his thermal imaging glasses, Moss activated the red light flashlight mounted on the side of his helmet and shined the light over both Ferguson and Shin. Despite everything he had seen in the last two months, Moss still couldn't stop himself from wincing at the sight.

Shin had taken a face full of shrapnel and blood was streaming down her face, making it hard to tell exactly how many times she had been hit. She bent over and spat out a glob of bloody spit, possibility indicating injuries to the mouth, but as she removed her shooting glasses, Moss was relieved to note both her eyes appeared to be intact. She also had minor cuts and burns on her arms and legs, as well as several smoking holes in her chest plate, but none of them seemed too serious.

Ferguson on the other hand, looked terrible. Jagged pieces of shrapnel were sticking out from all over his backpack and the top of his helmet, and he had a large smoking hole on the right side of his chest. More alarmingly though, his left leg just below the knee had almost been completely amputated, only hanging on to the rest of body by a couple strands of sinew. Blood was gushing out the wound and already the mud beneath Ferguson was turning reddish.

"Well, that doesn't look good," Griffin glibly commented, snapping Moss out of his daze.

"Medic!" Moss hollered. "We need a medic here, now! Griffin, start stripping Ferguson of his gear. Norén, put pressure on that leg, do it now!"

Griffin and Norén sprang into action and Moss turned to Shin to see what he could do for her, only to see her shaking her head.

"I'm alright," she said, breathlessly. "It's only a scratch."

"Bullshit," Moss retorted. "You look like the fucking walking dead with all that blood on your face!"

"It looks worse than it actually is," Shin insisted. "Help Ferguson first."

Norén looked up and cocked her head. "According to standard battlefield triage procedures, first responders must treat the wounded in order of least severity."

"Specialist, fuck off," Shin venomously breathed. "We're combat engineers, not medics. Moss, I have seniority over you, which means I'm in change now that Ferguson is down and I am fucking ordering you to treat Ferguson first."

"Fine," Moss reluctantly agreed. "But in the meantime, get out your IFAK and slap some biofoam on that shit before you bleed out." Moss waited until Shin pulled out her infantry first aid kit before turning his attention back to Ferguson.

"Medic!" Moss bellowed again. "Two, give us cover. Griffin start plugging holes with biofoam. Don't remove the shrapnel!" he snapped as Griffin started to do just that. "Let the medics deal with it. Just make his uniform doesn't get sealed into the wounds."

"Here Corporal." Moss glanced up to see Two removing his rain coat and handing it over to him. "Throw that over him," Two said. "Keep him warm, make sure he doesn't go into shock.

"Good thinking Specialist," Moss complimented, doing his best to get Ferguson covered, while at the same time, not interfere with Griffin's work. Once that was accomplished, he turned back to Ferguson's leg. Norén had begun to apply biofoam to the wound, but it was clear to Moss it wasn't working.

"You got a tourniquet?" she asked. "Blood flow is too strong, biofoam isn't going to stay long enough to harden."

In response, Moss reached over and removed Ferguson's belt from his waist. Wrapping the belt several centimeters above the actual wound itself, Moss pulled tight, until the blood flow dropped down to a trickle, before securing it. Ferguson groaned.

"Hang in there Harry," Moss told him. "You're going to be okay."

"Bashir alright?" Moss heard him slur.

"Pip, status on Bashir?"

"They shot me through my fucking foot man!" Bashir complained.

"Quit your bitching, it's only a scratch," Poblede said with a sigh.

"Here's an idea, why don't I shoot you through the foot and then you can tell me it's only a scratch!"

Moss ignored them as he called out to Griffin. "Griffin, how's it looking?"

"I need another can of biofoam."

Moss reached into Ferguson's IFAK and pulled out a brand new one. He tossed it over to Griffin before turning to Norén. "Norén?"

"With the tourniquet cutting blood flew, biofoam is now holding," she reported. "But he's lost a lot of blood. We need a medic here, now."

"Poblede, Bashir, go find me a medic and bring him back here," Moss snapped. "Be quick about it."

"On it!" Poblede said, and darted away with Bashir limping behind her.

"Moss," Ferguson suddenly rasped. "I need help."

Moss grabbed his hand and gave him what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze. "I know. Just hang on buddy, help is on the way.

"No, not that," Ferguson wheezed. "My fucking lung…"

"Griffin," Moss snapped, "Get some biofoam on the hole in his chest."

Griffin lift a can of biofoam and shook it. The hollow clanking made it clear to Moss it was empty. "Already done."

"You need to remove it," Ferguson coughed. "It's causing… tension pneumothorax."

"What?" Moss glanced at Norén who merely shook her head. "Sergeant, I don't know what that is."

"My fucking right lung's collapsed," Ferguson gasped out. "I need you to cut me… right here." With trembling hands, he pointed at a spot in the general area below his collarbone.

"Cut you?" Moss incredulously repeated. "I'm no medic but that doesn't sound like a good idea."

"Need to put a tube in me…" Ferguson continued with obvious difficulty. "Can't breathe…"

"Corporal, move!" Two suddenly barked and startled, Moss reflexively obeyed.

Moss watched as Two took the drinking tube from his hydration pack and cut a small piece off with his bayonet. Then, Moss watched as Two made motions to cut a slit into Ferguson's chest. Alarmed, Moss moved to stop him, but Norén grabbed a hold of him.

"Corporal, let him work."

Two inserted the tube into the incision. There was an audible hiss of air releasing and almost instantly, Ferguson began breathing more easily.

"Thank you," Ferguson rasped. "Fucking, thank you!"

"Son of a bitch," Moss muttered to himself. He still wasn't sure what just happened, but it was clear to Moss something terrible would have happened to Ferguson if Two hadn't intervened. He wasn't allowed to dwell on that thought for long as Poblede and Bashir returned with Specialist Falco, one of Quebec Company's assigned combat medics, in tow.

"Where's he hit?" Falco demanded to know, quickly removing his med pack.

"Doc, he took some shrapnel to the chest and nearly had his leg amputated," Moss reported. "We put a tourniquet on it to stop the bleeding about, what, seven minutes ago?" He glanced at Norén for confirmation. "He also had tension... something."

"Tension pneumothorax?" Falco said sharply, alarmed. He relaxed when he saw the tube in Ferguson's chest though. "Good work. You do this?"

Moss shook his head and pointed at Two.

"Well done soldier," Falco told him. "How'd it happen?"

"60mm mortar with a time delayed fuze," Norén answered.

Two's head shot up. "Fucking friendly fire did this?"

"It was probably a short round, rather than bad coordinates," Norén said with a shrug. "All this humidity, all this moisture? Gets into the propellant, fucks with the strength. I've seen it before, usually because of improper storage. This rain isn't helping either."

"Anyone else get hit?" Falco asked.

"Corporal Shin did," Moss reported. "Cyn, the Doc is here," he started to say, but then froze at the sight of her. She was laying on her back, an unused can of biofoam held loosely her in her hand. Her eyes were wide open and Moss could see her pupils were completely dilated. She was staring, unmoving, at nothing in particular in the night sky, not even blinking when rain drops fell directly onto her eyeballs. Blood was still oozing out of the wounds on her face, but it had slow down to barely a trickle, and her skin had turned pale.

"Doc," Moss slowly said.

Falco glanced over and did a quick double-take. Placing two fingers on Shin's neck, Falco waited a moment before letting out a sigh.

"She's dead," he reported.

"How?" Moss choked out, his throat starting to feel constricted.

"Shock probably killed her." Falco reached out and pulled out Shin's dogtags. Yanking one of the tags off the ball chain, he handed it over to Moss with a sympathetic look on his face. "Nothing you could have done."

Moss stared blankly at the tag in his hand, trying to processes it all. He wasn't sure how long he stood there, but an explosion suddenly went off nearby, showering him with dirt and reminding him of where he was. Clearing his throat, Moss glanced over at Norén.

"Police up Shin's gear," he ordered, trying to keep his voice steady. He wasn't sure how successful he was, but if she heard his voice wavering, Norén didn't comment.

Moss started to remove the magazines from Shin's belt, but the sound of approaching footsteps caught his attention. He looked up to see Sergeant Jacob Xanthus, one of Quebec Company's platoon sergeants, running towards them.

"Sappers!" he yelled at them, then froze at the sight of Ferguson's and Shin's chewed up bodies. The seconds ticked by as Xanthus stood there, motionless.

"Sergeant Xanthus!" Moss barked, drawing his attention back to the task at hand. "What do you need?"

Xanthus seemed to shake himself. "We need combat engineers up front!"

Moss took a deep, ragged breath, and released it slowly. "Doc, we've got to go," Moss reported, glad for the distraction. He picked up Shin's rifle from the ground and quickly checked it over. "You good here?"

"Yeah, I got this," Falco replied, even as he worked on hooking an IV to Ferguson. "Go do what you got to do!"

"Copy," Moss replied before bending over to remove the MC5 Individual Net/Terminal strapped to Ferguson's left forearm. The tactical pad, or TACPAD, was an essential piece of equipment issued to officers and non-commissioned officers that contained military data such as maps, clearance codes, and detonation frequencies.

"You're in good hands now Harry," Moss told Ferguson as he worked on securing the TACPAD to his right forearm. Patting Ferguson on his left shoulder, he yelled, "I'll see you someplace else!"

He glanced at Xanthus and nodded.

"Follow me!" Xanthus ordered.

They followed Xanthus as he dashed back up the hill. They advanced a couple hundred meters, up to the point where the forest abruptly ended, leaving nothing but bare open ground the rest of the way up the hill. It was also there, at the edge of the tree line, where they found Rabinowitz and his command staff, taking cover behind a fallen tree trunk.

"Sir, the sappers are here!" Xanthus called out.

"Squad leader!" Rabinowitz immediately called out and Moss quickly moved passed his squad until he was crouched right next to Rabinowitz.

"Sir!" Moss barked, shouting to be heard over the artillery and plasma fire.

"About seventy meters out, Covenant have got plasma turrets dug into the side of the hill raining hell down on us," Rabinowitz yelled into Moss' ear. "My boys are trying to eliminate them with grenades, but we can't get close enough because the Covenant have strung out some wire about twenty meters in front of them! I need you to get out there and make us a hole!"

Moss glanced out across the open hillside in front of him. Aside from one or two small bushes, the hillside was complete devoid of cover. Plasma fire raked across the open land and a couple of meters away, Moss watched as an infantryman stood up to fire a grenade launcher, only to be instantly gunned down. In the distance, Moss could just barely make out the source of the fire, a series of Shade turrets spaced roughly twenty meters apart.

Ducking his head back down, Moss turned back to Rabinowitz.

"We're going to need a smoke screen sir!" Moss requested. "And covering fire! Lots of covering fire!"

"You'll get it!" Rabinowitz promised before turning to his radio operator. "Jackson! Tell 4th Platoon to get their Gimpys talking! Start suppressing those Shades! Aykut! I want a smoke screen, right here!"

As Rabinowitz barked out orders, Moss returned to his squad. "Who's got the bangers?"

Both Poblede and Bashir raised their hands.

"Okay, Pip and Bashir, with me. The rest of you, covering fire," Moss paused as smoke shells exploded over the field in front of him, laying down a thick cloud of gray smoke. "Now!"

With the barest amount of hesitation, Moss tucked his head down and dashed out into the field through the smoke. All around him, the sound of machine gun fire filled his ears as the entire line of paratroopers open fired in an attempt to suppress the Covenant gunners long enough for Moss and his squad to do their jobs. Moss did his best to keep running in a straight line, least he accidently wander into their lines of fire.

The wire barrier loomed out of the smoke in front of him and Moss dropped to his belly, finding cover inside a small depression in the ground a couple of meters away. Poblede and Bashir joined him as he raised his head to study the Covenant defensive barrier in front of him. He was surprised by what he saw. When Rabinowitz had mentioned 'wire,' Moss had assumed what Rabinowitz really meant was some high tech Covenant equivalent of concertina wire. But now that Moss was able to get a closer look at it, it turned out the wire was in fact, literally, standard issued UNSC triple concertina wire. It had to have been left over from the UNSC base that used to be at the top of this hill because Moss couldn't think of a single instance of the Covenant ever using wire barriers. Still, Moss wasn't complaining. The use of UNSC equipment meant Moss knew exactly how to defeat it.

"Start assembling the Bangalore torpedo!" Moss ordered.

Poblede and Bashir quickly removed the explosives from their backpacks and began connecting the sections together, sliding it over to Moss once complete. With their help, he began shoving the torpedo under the concertina wire through the mud until it emerged on the other side. Before shoving the banger completely through, Moss reached into his pocket and pulled out a blasting cap with a remote detonator. Scanning it with his TACPAD to arm it, Moss pushed it into the end of the banger and shoved the entire assembly away from him.

"Fire in the hole!" Moss screamed, thumbing the activation button on his TACPAD.

The ground rumbled as a massive amount of dirt was thrown into the air. As the dust settled, Moss lifted his head and was satisfied to see a large section of concertina wire had been destroyed, leaving a large gap in the barrier.

"Come on! Let's go get the bastards!" Bashir yelled, climbing to his feet as the dust settled. He started to dash right through the open breach.

"White Knight, this is Sledgehammer 1-2," Moss called into his radio as he rose up to follow Bashir. He was just about to report a successful breach through the wire, when there was a loud, shrill _BEEP_ and Bashir whirled to him, a look of horror on his face.

"Corporal, get down!" he screamed, sounding more terrified than Moss had ever heard him before.

Before Moss could ask what was wrong, there was an explosion and Moss knocked clean off his feet, landing heavily in the mud for the umpteenth time tonight. Moss quickly scrambled upright and looked around, only to see Bashir had disappeared completely, only a small crater remaining where he once stood.

"What the fuck?" Moss asked as he desperately tried to process the scene in front of him. "Where the fuck is Bashir?"

"Mine strike!" Poblede screamed. "We've got mines in the field behind the wire!"

"Son of a bitch!" Moss yelped, dropping to the ground, finally understanding the beeping noise he had heard just before Bashir had disappeared.

"What sort of fucking moron puts a minefield _behind_ a wire barrier?" Poblede was complaining. "That defeats the point of both obstacles!"

"I have no idea how Covenant minds work Pip, so just roll with it!" Moss said irritably. "You got any more bangers?"

Poblede shook her head.

"Shit," Moss snarled before turning to his radio. "Norén, Bashir is gone, mine strike. We've got an active minefield out here! Bring up the rest of the squad and make sure you've got the APOBS with you!"

Picking himself off the ground, Moss fired a few rounds uphill and waited until Norén and the rest of the squad arrived, bring the APOBS with them.

"Poblede, get that shit set up!" Moss ordered. "Two, help her! The rest of you, cover!"

Moss open fired up the hill as Poblede and Two worked frantically to assemble the APOBS.

"Set!" Poblede reported, pulling out the last safety pin.

Conscious of the fact their smoke was about to wear out, Moss hesitated for half a second to allow his squad to find cover before he slammed his hand down on the trigger. There was a loud shriek as a rocket was fired from the APOBS into the air, dragging behind it a long chain of plastic explosives.

"Get back!" Moss ordered as the rocket and chain disappeared into the smoke. He waited until the chain had fully extended before reaching for the detonation switch.

"Fire in the hole!" he screamed. "Two, get your head down! Fire in the hole!"

A tremendous explosion ripped through the ground, the blast wave hitting Moss like a punch to the stomach. The noise was insane; even with his hearing protection, Moss could feel his ears ringing. The entire hill shook, and a massive amount of earth was displaced into the air before crashing back down like some sort of strange rain storm. As the dust cleared, Moss carefully poked his head up, and was pleased to note a large path had been cleared almost all the way to the Covenant turret line, marked by freshly overturned soil. Less pleasing to note was the shockwave from the explosion had actually blown away what remained of their smoke cover, leaving Moss and his squad out in the open. There was only one thing left to do.

"Get up!" Moss roared. "Everybody up! We got to hit the Covenant before they recover from their shock!"

Moss dashed up the hill, struggling slightly to make it through the loose soil. As he ran, he keyed in his mic.

"White Knight this is Sledgehammer 1-2," he breathlessly yelled. "Breach successful, we're pushing the plasma turrets now. Need infantry support, over!"

About halfway through the breach, a plasma bolt splattered into the ground by his feet, splashing him with burning dirt. Moss dove into a small impact crater nearby, joined by the rest of his squad. Plasma rain down around them as the Shade turret gunner recovered from his shock and began to open fire.

"Great, now what?" Griffin asked, his cheerful tone at odds with the situation.

"We need to take out that turret!"

"Oh cool, how do we do that?"

Moss quickly glanced over his cover. A Type-27 Shade turret manned by a single Grunt was sticking out from a pit in the ground, firing at them. He noticed another two Grunts and Jackal in the hole with the turret before he was forced to duck.

"We got to take out the gunner," Moss said. "So we can get close and flush out that foxhole with grenades."

"Sounds good. How do we do that?"

Moss handed his rifle to Poblede. "Pip, I'm going to distract the gunner," he told her as he pulled out a frag grenade. "Kill him. And hey," he grabbed her arm. "Please don't fucking miss."

"Corporal, how are you planning on distracting the gunner?" Norén asked.

"Like this."

Moss hurtled the grenade over his head. As soon as it detonated, he scrambled out of the crater and began sprinting diagonally up the hill.

"What the... Moss are you crazy?" he heard Poblede yelled.

"Don't fucking miss!" Moss hollered back.

Plasma rained down around as the Grunt immediately panned to target him. None of the rounds hit, but the thing about plasma was that it didn't need to hit directly on target to cause injury. Moss was sure if it wasn't for his rain soaked clothes and armor, he would be suffering from first to second degree burns across his body. As it were though, he was starting to get really dry.

A single gunshot from an MA37 assault rifle rang out behind him and the plasma fire abruptly cut off. Moss immediately turned and started to charge directly at the machine gun pit. As he drew near, a Jackal rose up with a Needle Rifle in hand. Before Moss could react, the Jackal fired a single shot. The needle impacted Moss right in his chest, causing him to stumble, but it failed to explode indicating a failure to penetrate so Moss continued to sprint forward, snapping the crystal off as he moved. The Jackal took aim again, but machine fire from Moss' squad forced the alien to duck.

As Moss came within two meters of the turret, he pulled out another grenade and hurtled it directly into the foxhole. The grenade exploded, throwing white, snow-like particles in all directions. Only, unlike snow, wherever these particles land, they immediately sizzled and burned, setting fire to both metal and flesh alike.

Confused by the lack of a _boom_ , Moss glanced down at his belt and realized he had inadvertently tossed a white phosphorus grenade, one he used for target designation and material demolition, instead of a frag grenade. Horrified, Moss looked back up and watched as the Grunts, completely engulfed in flames and screeching in pain, their armor literally welding to their flesh, scramble out of the hole and start to roll around in the mud, trying desperately to extinguish the flames. They were mercifully put out their misery by gun fire from his squad.

Then the Jackal climbed out of the hole. Like the Grunts before him, he too was on fire, his armor melting off his body, and his blacken flesh peeling all the way to the bone. The Jackal took one look at Moss, let out a blood-curdling scream of pain and hatred, and charged towards Moss.

"Oh fuck!" Moss yelped, backpedaling and pulling out his sidearm.

He emptied the magazine into the Jackal's chest, but the armor piercing rounds punched right through the weakened armor and out the other side without stopping or even slowing down. The Jackal was too far gone to notice the pain of the impacts and continued to charge at Moss, his arms extended as if he intended to throttle Moss with his bare hands. Moss waited until the last second before sidestepping the flaming Jackal, tripping him as he passed. The Jackal landed face first into the mud but before he could recover, Moss stomped on the back of his head, driving his face further into the mud. But doing so caused a couple of white phosphorus particles to stick to the bottom of his boot.

"Ohshitohshitohshit!" Moss yelped. He dropped to the ground and pulled out his bayonet, cutting off the pieces of his boot where the white phosphorus had adhered to before it could burn through his shoe, and burying the pieces in the mud.

A soft groan caught his attention and Moss turned. He froze at the sight of the Jackal, almost a charred skeleton at this point, trying to pick himself off the ground. That is, until Two walked up, kicked the Jackal back onto the ground, and fire two shots at point blank range into the Jackal's head, finally killing him.

"Man, you should have let him burn," Griffin complained. "I like extra crispy chicken. Hey, who's hungry?" he asked with a laugh.

Poblede brushed passed him and marched straight up to Moss and hurtled his rifle right at his face. Moss was just barely able to reach up and grab it before it broke his nose.

"What the fuck was that Corporal?" she demanded to know, sounding equal parts pissed and terrified.

"Pip, we had to take out that machine gun nest," Moss protested.

"Yeah, that's why the Army gave me a fucking grenade launcher!"

"Ah," Moss said lamely. "Right," he finished as he wondered exactly how he forgot that little factoid.

Poblede opened her mouth, presumably to continue yelling at Moss, but stopped when Rabinowitz and his riflemen came running up.

"You pull another stunt like that again Corporal," Poblede threatened instead, "and I'm telling your mother."

"Yes ma'am," Moss meekly said.

"I thought you were his mother," he heard Griffin say snarky.

"Lieutenant, take your platoon and secure the rest of this line!" Rabinowitz barked as he came running up. "The rest of you, follow me! Good work Corporal. I'll make sure you a medal for that," Rabinowitz told Moss as he ran passed.

With Two's help, Moss climbed to his feet and went charging after Rabinowitz. They reached the top and cleared the crest of the hill, where Moss was finally able to lay eyes on the objective they had come here to destroy and the reason why they were here in the first place: the massive, lumbering form of a Type-38 Anti-Aircraft Cannon, better known to UNSC forces by its reporting name of "Tyrant." Assembled on site by Covenant forces when they first invade Newsaka two months ago, the Tyrant had effectively shut down all UNSC air traffic in the entire area of operations. With its massive firepower, infinite ammunition, and over-the-horizon range, there wasn't anything the UNSC possessed that flew through the air that the Tyrant couldn't destroy; everything from UNSC Navy frigates to Air Force ballistic missiles were shot down. Destruction of the Tyrant, and two other ones in the next mountain range over, would allow the UNSC Air Force and Navy to unleash the considerable firepower in their fleets and finally draw a close to the bloody Covenant invasion. On this colony at least.

Scrambling around trying to get reorganized at the base of the Tyrant was an understrength company of Covenant soldiers: all that remained of the Covenant garrison as the vast majority of defenders had been deployed to fight off what they had assumed to be the real UNSC attack: the distraction force in the valley below. Depending on their fixed fortifications to defend their rear, the remaining Covenant garrison was caught out in the open with no vehicles for support, no heavy weapons to fight back, and no cover.

"Covenant out in the open!" Rabinowitz bellowed. "Take them out!"

Moss dropped to his belly, using the crest of the hill for cover.

"Chose your targets!" he heard Xanthus yelling in the background. "And pour it on them!"

Moss aimed his rifle, but found he had no targets to shoot at. With the sheer volume of gunfire his fellow paratroopers were putting up, Moss found that most of the Covenant were dying before he could engage them. Moss aimed at a Grunt, but someone threw a frag grenade at the Grunt's feet blowing the creature away so Moss switched over to a Brute Ultra trying to rally his troops. Several other people spotted the alien though and Moss watched as the Brute disintegrated under a hail of gunfire. Three Jackals tried to create a shield wall; a rocket from an M41 SSR rocket launcher knocked them all off their feet. As they tried to recover, they were blown apart by a number of 40mm grenades.

As Moss searched for some still breathing targets, Moss could hear Two counting beside him.

"Three," Two said, and then fired another burst. "Four."

Next to Two, Moss could hear Griffin laughing his head off.

"Yeah, get some motherfuckers, get some!" he was saying, his cheers occasionally punctuated by gunfire.

On the other side of Moss, Norén was whispering to herself.

"That's for you Evert," he heard her say. "And that one was for you mum. But this one's for me," she finished as she gunned down one of the last remaining Skirmishers still in the open before reloading.

"2nd and 3rd Platoon, suppressing fire on the Tyrant!" Rabinowitz yelled out, scrambling upright as the surviving Covenant soldiers retreated back into the Tyrant, shutting the door behind them with an audible _clank._ "1st Platoon and Sappers, with me! To the door! Let's blow this thing and go home!"

Slipping slightly on the sheer amount of brass casings that litter the ground now, Moss leapt to his feet and sprinted across the open field, following behind several paratroopers as they progressed to the base of the Tyrant. A purple beam lanced through the chest of one of them and Moss looked up to the top platform of the Tyrant: Jackal snipers, doing their best to stem the tide rushing towards them.

"Up high, snipers! Up high!" Moss warned. Without breaking stride, Moss brought his rifle to bear and open fired on them. Moving as fast as he was, he was almost guaranteed to not have hit them even once, but he kept them suppressed until he had made to the base of the Tyrant where it would be impossible for the Jackals to shoot at him unless they exposed themselves rather dangerously.

Xanthus was already at the entrance into the Tyrant with a couple of his men. The blast doors were sealed shut, as expected, and Moss watched as one of Xanthus' men kicked the doors in frustration, before firing a burst from his rifle into the door. The bullets did absolutely nothing expect ricochet off, one of which nearly hit Xanthus in the arm.

"Hey Demirci, cut that shit out!" Xanthus yelled, smacking the offender in the back of the helmet. He turned to Moss with an annoyed look on his face. "Well, the tin can is sealed shut. I hope you engineers brought a can opener with you."

"Oh, don't worry," Moss assured him. "We brought something much better than that. Griffin, Norén, breaching charges, let's go!"

Attaching the charges to the doors, Moss gestured for everyone to take cover on either side of the doorframe. When everyone was in position, Moss glanced at Norén, who nodded.

"Fire in the hole!" she screamed before thumbing the remote detonator.

White hot sparks and orange flames began leaping from the breaching charges as the thermite-carbon cording was ignited, cutting a hole through the metal door like a hot knife through butter. As soon as the thermite was used up, a small, secondary charge was activated, blowing the metal door inwards and hopefully taking out any Covenant stupid enough to be standing on the other side.

Before the smoke could fully clear, Xanthus pulled out a frag grenade. "Ramirez, frags!" he barked and Ramirez pulled out his own grenade. They nodded each other before Xanthus primed his grenade and tossed through the hole. "Frag out!"

Moss pressed his back against the wall and waited for the grenades to explode.

"Breaching!" he yelled as soon as they did. Peeling away from the wall, he climbed through the hole and into the belly of the Tyrant. The exothermic charge had created a mess on the inside. Fragments of the door were imbedded everywhere and the normally blue color steel was stained black with soot. The transparent material that protected the Tyrant's pinch fusion reactor had been shattered, leaving the core exposed. Laying on the ground in front of the door was the corpse of a single Grunt, his head neatly decapitated by flying metal.

Ignoring the vulnerable core for now, Moss swept the right side of the room, catching sight of two Grunts running up the ramp that led to the observation deck above them. Moss open fired, managing to kill one of them, but the other was able to escape.

"Left side clear!" he heard Norén yell from beside him.

"Right clear!" he yelled, keeping his rifle pointed at the ramp. "But we've got guys upstairs!"

Xanthus joined him, his rifle at the ready. "Prep this place to blow Corporal," he ordered. "My guys will clear the rest of this installation."

Moss nodded and shoulder his rifle.

"My guys, stack up!" Xanthus ordered and carefully began advancing up the ramp.

Ignoring the gunfire that roared out, Moss removed his backpack and pulled out an M168 Demolition Charge. Removing the adhesive strip on the back of the charge, he stuck the charge to the base of the pinch fusion reactor. Checking his TACPAD for the code, Moss set the charge, and then rotated the charging handle into the "arm" position.

Just as he finished working, Xanthus returned with the rest of his men. "Observation deck secured. You all set?"

"We're ready here," Moss reported, putting his backpack on.

"Good. Coming out!" Xanthus yelled outside, before exiting the room.

They retreated a safe distance away from the Tyrant.

"Sledgehammer 1-2 to all UNSC forces in the vicinity of Objective Charlie," Moss called into his radio. "There will be a controlled detonation in T minus three, two, one. All units, fire in the hole, fire in hole, fire in the hole." Lowering his microphone, Moss cupped his hands around his mouth. "FIRE IN THE HOLE!"

Moss pushed a button on his TACPAD. There was a muffled explosion from inside the Tyrant causing the entire installation to shake. An audible alarm began to sound from the Tyrant and small explosions began ripping through the entire building before the barrel of the Tyrant detonated in a brilliant blue flash, causing Moss to reflexively raise his arm to protect his eyes from the light. As the explosion died down, Moss lowered his arm and watched as the Tyrant, with a teeth rattling tremble, collapse upon itself.

"Chess Master, this is White Knight," Rabinowitz said into the radio as he walked up. "Objective Charlie is secured, I say again, Objective Charlie has been destroyed. Out. Quebec Company, secure the area! Police all weapons, and secure any and all Covenant survivors. Don't execute them! I want all possible prisoners turned over to Military Intelligence for interrogation. That includes you Private Demirci!"

"Yes sir," Demirci grumbled with obvious reluctance.

As the infantry scrambled around to follow orders, Moss calmly walked back to the crest of the hill to get out of their way. With the Tyrant destroyed, his job was essentially finished.

Moss stared out in the distance and watched two blue explosions, almost identical to the one he witnessed mere minutes ago, light up the horizon.

"All objectives have been secured, I guess," Norén noted as she joined Moss.

"I guess."

A loud rumbling filled the air.

"Here come our angels," Poblede whispered, looking straight up at the sky.

Moss followed her gaze and saw one of the most beautiful sights he'd seen in a while: the hulking forms of two UNSC Navy frigates, their hulls glowing orange as they descended through Newsaka's atmosphere. Surrounding them like a halo were hundreds of Air Force, Navy, and Marine Corps Longsword and Shortsword fighters.

"Never thought I would be happy to see the damn Marine Corps," Two commented, sounding awestruck.

Before Moss could respond, one of the frigates open fired with her MAC cannon, the muzzle flash lighting up the entire sky like a second sun. Moss saw the flash of the impact and then, almost a full minute later, heard the rumble of the explosion.

"Now that's a beautiful sight," Griffin commented as the fighters began to disperse, vectoring to where they were needed the most.

"Yes it is," Moss agreed.

For several minutes, they sat there watching as UNSC air power began raining down destruction on the Covenant. As he sat there, a thought suddenly occurred to him and Moss turned to Two.

"Hey rookie," he called out.

Two turned to face him. "Yeah Corporal?" he tiredly asked.

Instead of reply, Moss extended his hand and waited until Two, confused, took it.

"Corporal Moss Shen," Moss cheerfully announced, shaking his hand. "And you are?"

Two stared blankly at him for a moment, before a grin broke out on his face, and he returned the handshake. "Specialist Cliff Roer," he said.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Specialist Roer," Moss declared with a smile. "Welcome to 2nd Squad."

* * *

1\. This chapter was partially inspired by the 1987 war film _Hamburger Hill._ The movie is about the 1969 Battle of Hamburger Hill during the Vietnam War where elements of the US Army's 101st Airborne Division made a direct assault against the heavily fortified Hamburger Hill (marked on military maps as "Hill 937" because it is 937 meters tall.) The battle was/is controversial because the mountain held no strategic value, and the US military abandoned it soon after its capture.

2\. "Leg" or "Straight Leg" (my research indicates either can be used) is a US Army specific derisive term for any non-airborne qualified soldier.

3 & 5\. The use of numbers as nicknames for new replacements is a reference to the German World War II miniseries _Unsere Mütter, unsere Väter_ (English title: _Generation War,)_ a three part series about five German friends and their roles during WW2.

4\. The "Who you calling bud… calling friend" sequence is from the 2001 heist film _Ocean's Eleven_

6\. A "cannon cocker" as defined by Urbandictionary is: "Term used in the military for anyone that fires or mans any type of gun. This can be used for a tank gunner, artillery man, door gunner, deck gunner, etc."

7\. A "redleg" is a US Army specific nickname for any member of the Artillery Branch. Its usage here is technically not correct because redlegs actually don't apply to mortarmen who fire infantry mortars, but in this case, it's simply because Moss and his squad don't know any better.

8\. Quote from Halo 3, Halo 3: ODST, and it's an achievement in Halo: Reach


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

 **Kagawa City Spaceport, Osaka Prefecture, Newsaka  
April 29, 2545  
0750J**

Moss never really considered himself a patient person. Growing up, Moss always hated having to sit around and wait for something to happen. It didn't seem to matter what he was waiting for. It could have been something good, like waiting for his class fieldtrip to the museum the next day, or it could have been something bad, like waiting for his dentist appointment. Whatever it was, Moss had always wanted it to happen now, at that very moment.

Unfortunately, being in the UNSC military required a lot of patience. Before enlisting in the Army, Moss hadn't realizing just how much of the military consisted of waiting. Whether it be waiting in line at the mess hall for some chow, or by the track for some of the slower members of his platoon to finish morning PT, or even just waiting in formation for his company first sergeant to dismiss them, Moss estimated he had spent as much as ninety percent of his military career just standing around.

Even on the frontline there were long moments of absolutely nothing to do, something Moss never have never imagine being possible as a civilian given that humanity was involved in an epic struggle to prevent her very extinction. But, having gain some actual field experience, Moss finally understood why: for any military operation to be successful, whether it be defensive or offensive in nature, it required reconnaissance to be gather, intelligence to be disseminated, supplies allocated, and units redeployed, all of which took time to accomplish. And until those things were completed, the only thing front line combat troops like Moss could do was simply wait. Having spent the last year in the Army, Moss had learned to simply roll with those moments. Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said about every single member of his squad.

"What the fuck."

Moss didn't even bother opening his eyes at the sound of Roer cursing. When they had first arrived at the airfield, Roer had been shocked and dismayed to see that the Air Force D77-TC "Pelican" dropships that were schedule to bring them to the troop transport ship that would bring them back to their garrison planet of Skopje had yet to arrive. He had then spent the next thirty minutes complaining, with increased frequency, about said lack of transportation. It had been amusing to Moss at first, but after a few moments of watching Roer pace around, Moss had gotten bored and decided he would rather lay down in the grass to enjoy the first real sunny day they had since arriving on Newsaka almost two months ago.

A shadow passed over his face and Moss frowned.

"Dude," Poblede called out from her spot in the grass next to Moss. "You're in our light."

"Are you two seriously trying to take a nap right now?" Roer demanded to know, even as he moved out of the way.

"Uh, yeah?" Poblede airily replied, as if Roer was an idiot. "We aren't allowed leave the airfield, and the Pelicans are the only way off-world, so we're stuck here until they arrive. What would you rather us do in the meantime, bitch and moan? Thanks, but I think you've got that department pretty well covered."

A startled laugh escaped from Moss' lips before he could stop it, and he heard Roer let out an offended scoff. Roer nevertheless fell silent for which Moss was grateful for. There was blissful silence, save the birds chirping in the distance, and just when Moss thought Roer had finally ran out of steam, and that he would finally be able to get his nap in, Roer spoke up again.

"God dammit, it's 0800?" Roer groaned. "We've been sitting here for a fucking hour already? Fucking flyboys and their need to always be fashionable late."

Moss let out a silent sigh.

"Tw- Specialist Roer," Moss began. "Take a deep breath and relax, okay? Pelicans aren't supposed to arrive until 0900, and I don't want to spend the entire time here listening to you gripe. So, kindly, shut up. Consider that an order."

"Thank you Moss," Poblede murmured.

"Wait a minute," Griffin suddenly interjected.

"Oh, for fucks sake people," Poblede exclaimed, throwing her hands into the air. "All of you, just shut the fuck up!"

"Fuck off Poblede," Griffin retorted. "Wasn't talking to you, talking to Moss. Corporal, I just want to know, if the Pelicans are supposed to be here at 0900, why command make us rush to get to the airfield by 0700?"

Moss sighed and abandoned the idea of taking a nap. Sitting upright, he tried to recover the blanket he and Poblede had been using for a pillow, only to stop when Poblede literally hissed at him.

"Because," Moss responded, wearily glancing at Poblede. "If you're not at least fifteen minutes early to the fifteen minutes early, then you're doing it wrong."

Griffin stared at him blankly. "What?" he asked, confused.

Moss sighed before explaining. "The way it works is this: Air Force tells division the Pelicans will be at the airfield at 0900. Division doesn't want us to be late, so they tell brigade to have the companies arrive fifteen minutes early, at 0845. Now, brigade doesn't want us to be late either and figure we should arrive fifteen minutes early, just to be sure. So they tell battalion the arrival time is at 0830. Battalion doesn't want to be late either, so they tell the company commanders arrival time is 0815. And so on and so forth until we're here, at the airfield, with two hours of downtime to kill."

Griffin scratched his head. "Does this happen all the time?" he finally asked.

"Oh yes," Moss replied with just the barest hint of sarcasm. "The 'hurry up and wait' policy is a time-honored tradition that all militaries adhere to, not just the UNSC." Moss jerked his head in Norén's direction. "Ask Norén, she'll tell you."

Norén looked up the data pad she was reading and nodded her head in affirmation.

"Well, that's fucking stupid," Griffin cheerfully declared.

"It's like what one of the Black Hats(1) at jump school once told," Poblede added. "There are two ways to do things: there's the smart way, and then there's the Army way."

"Ha!" Griffin said with a laugh. "And you fuckers volunteered for this shit?"

Poblede lifted her head up to glare at him. "We all volunteered, numbnuts."

"Not me, I was drafted."

Roer laughed. "As if. Conscripts can't become paratroopers, you have to volunteer for that."

"Then it's a good thing I'm not a paratrooper, isn't it?"

"Oh yeah," Poblede commented as Roer's head snapped up. "I forgot about that."

"You're not a paratrooper?" Roer repeated, incredulous.

"No? Didn't I just say that?"

Roer glanced over at Moss, who simply shrugged in confirmation.

"What the hell? Hey Corporal, how's a Leg soldier get assigned to an airborne unit?" Roer asked.

"Because sometimes in the middle of a heavy campaign, the replacement system can't keep up with the amount of casualties taken. As a result, they will run out of qualified personnel. To make up for the shortfall, they'll generally send whomever they have at hand." Moss glanced over at Griffin. "Though, if Griffin ever wants to become an NCO in the Airborne, he's going to need to go to jump school at some point."

"Or, everyone above him just has to become a casualty first," Norén morbidly pointed out.

"That's true," Moss admitted. "It's sort of what happened with Sergeant Ferguson. And me, I suppose, as a consequence of Ferguson's promotion after Sergeant Tanner went MIA."

"Speaking of Fergie, you hear from him recently?" Poblede asked.

Moss shook his head. "Not directly, no. Sergeant Stalgis gave me an update a couple of days ago though. Said Ferguson lost his leg, which we kind of figured, but he should be alright."

"Man," Poblede mused. "That sucks. I would be scared to lose a limb like that."

"It's not like it's the end of the world or anything. Once he gets fitted with a prosthetic, Ferguson will probably be able to rejoin the unit. Well, provide of course, he passes the physical," Moss amended.

"What's going to happen to you if he returns Corporal?" Norén unexpectedly asked. "Is he going to get promoted or will you be demoted back to team leader?"

"I was never promoted in the first place," Moss corrected. "I'm still officially a team leader. So, no, I'm not going to get demoted. Now, whether or not Ferguson would get promoted, I have no idea. But even if he does, there's no guarantee I would take his place."

Poblede let out a snort. "Who else would they promote Moss? They're certainly not going to let any of us idiots take charge."

"Well, what about her?" Roer queried, gesturing at Norén.

"What about me?" Norén wearily asked.

"Why wouldn't command promote you? You're prior service, right? That's got to count for something."

Norén stared blankly at him. "What makes you think I've got prior service?"

"There were a lot of veterans living in my hometown. A lot of them had that thousand yard stare that you sport all the time," Roer explained. "So, what were you? Did you reenlist? Transfer from another Army branch? Or another one of the UNSC's military branches" A look of horror passed over his face. "Oh please don't tell me you were a Marine."

"What's wrong with the Marines?" Griffin asked.

"They're a bunch of arrogant asshats."

Moss coughed. "Yeah, I'd be careful about saying that too loudly Roer. You probably don't know this, but Lieutenant Lancelot is a former enlisted Marine." Moss gestured to where their platoon commander was sitting not too far away.

Roer looked startled. "Really?"

"Yeah. He was Force Recon assigned to an ODST unit. So…"

"Ah." Roer said, much more quietly. "Thanks for the heads up." He turned back to Norén. "So, what's your background?"

Norén studied Roer for a few moments, as if she was considering how to answer.

"I was with the Alluvion Defense Force," she finally said.

"You were Colonial Militia?"

"In a manner of speaking."

Roer frowned. "What does that mean?"

"It means I was in a militia, run by the colony, but not controlled by the UNSC."

Roer shook his head. "I don't get it. How can you be a militiaman and not be part of the Colonial Militia?"

Moss sighed. "Roer, you do realize there are other militia forces that aren't administrated by the USNC Armed Forces, right?"

Roer stared blankly at him. "What, like Provincial Militia?"

Moss shook his head. "No dude. Think broader."

"What other militia groups are there?"

"Holy shit dude, do we really need to spell it out for you?" Poblede exclaimed. "She was a fucking Innie!"

To Moss' surprise, a look of disgust passed over Roer's face and he physically recoiled from Norén.

"You were a fucking traitor to the UNSC?" he spat out.

"It's a little hard to betray an organization you were never originally loyal to," Norén drily pointed out.

"You're human, so you owe your allegiance to the UNSC," Roer stubbornly insisted.

"Why?" Norén demanded. "Why should I bow down to a government who knows nothing about the world I was born and raised on? Who probably couldn't even find my world on a star map?"

"Because first off, Earth is our homeworld…"

"Not mine," Norén interrupted. "I was born and raised on Alluvion. I've never seen Earth, much less visited it. Have you?"

"Furthermore," Roer continued, as if Norén hadn't spoken. "The UNSC exist for the protection and safety of mankind from threats like the Covenant Empire. All of mankind, regardless of whether they appreciate it or not."

"Protection?" Norén scoffed. "Is that what they're doing when UNSC soldiers open fire on a crowd of peaceful protesters? When gunships shoot up a hospital? When you drop bombs on towns full of innocents?"

"What about you?" Roer retorted. "You people claim you're fighting for independence, yet how does suicide bombers in the middle of crowded marketplaces accomplish that goal? Flying aerospace craft into buildings? Nukes going off in the middle of cities?"

"The scum that conducted those attacks are terrorist, no question about it. But they don't represent the separatist movement. The Alluvion Defense Force will and has gone to war against those radicals. We don't tolerate their bullshit. Unlike the UNSC."

"We have nothing to do with those terrorist either!" Roer angrily protested. "This is not some sort of movie, there is no shadow army ONI or some other intelligence group is creating for false flag operations!"

"I didn't say that," Norén hissed. "Though it's interesting that's the first thing you think of. No, my problem is, all the crimes executed by the UNSC were conducted by uniformed UNSC soldiers. The government always says those soldiers weren't acting on their behalf, but if that's true, how come none of those soldiers are ever punished? Sure, they get put on trial, but magically they're always acquitted. Funny how that works, huh?"

"If you don't understand how the justice system works, then you're dumber than you look," Roer scornfully said. "I cannot believe I'm listening to this bullshit. I also don't get how you guys don't have a problem with this!" He directed the last part to the rest of the squad, who, up to this point, had been quietly sitting and watching the situation unfold. Griffin was the first to respond.

"Shit bro," he said with a shrug. "I could give a fuck about politics. I am so fucking far down on the chain of command, it don't matter to me who's in charge. UNSC, Innies, the fucking Covenant? No matter what, I'm going to get shit on."

"The fact that Norén here was an Innie whore isn't exactly news to us kid," Poblede responded. "She hasn't exactly bothered to keep it a secret. But honestly, who gives a shit? She's not an Innie anymore; fucking Alluvion was glassed by the Covenant three years ago."

"Good," Roer venomously said. "That's one less planet of traitors we have to worry about."

A look of murderous fury passed over Norén's face and Moss clocked her reflexively reaching for an assault rifle that wasn't there, making him glad all weapons and munitions had already been inventoried and turned back into the armory. Still, he wouldn't exactly put it past Norén to use her hands so Moss decided he had to quickly intervene.

"That will do Specialist Roer!" Moss snapped, cutting in before things could turn bloody. "You are way out of line Trooper. I don't think you truly grasp the situation. An entire planet was destroyed! Sure, a bunch of Separatist got wasted. But so were a fuck ton more innocent civilians! And I don't give a shit who you are or where your loyalties lie, under no circumstances is that ever to be consider a 'good' thing. Now, I understand things are little heated right now so I'm going to overlook this incident, but if you ever say shit like that again, there will be consequences. Do I make myself clear Soldier?"

"Yes Corporal. Sorry Corporal," Roer said, sounding repentant. But just as Moss thought the issue had been settled, Roer spoke up again. "It's just, how can we be sure she's not going to desert the first chance she gets Corporal?"

"She's been here a month Specialist. If she was going to cut and run, she would have done so already."

Roer didn't look convinced so Moss sighed in annoyance.

"Look Specialist, here's the thing. I don't know about you, but I signed up to kill aliens, not other humans. If fighting insurgents is your thing, I'll talk to Lieutenant Lancelot and Sergeant Stalgis when we get back to Skopje and have you transferred to a Leg unit. This time next week, you can be running route clearance patrols or setting up forward operating bases in the middle of nowhere. In the meantime, shut up and sit down. Your speaking privileges have been revoked."

A shadow loomed over Moss and he looked up to see Sergeant Stalgis standing over him.

"Is there a problem here Corporal Shen?" Stalgis asked.

"No Sergeant," Moss replied. "Just a political discussion that got a little bit heated is all. It's under control now."

Moss noticed Stalgis' eyes automatically flickering towards Norén when Moss mentioned 'political discussion,' but Stalgis made no comment.

"Fine," was all Stalgis said instead. "Just keep it down."

"Yes Sergeant."

"Well, that was exciting," Griffin brightly commented as Stalgis walked away. "Man, I'm hungry. Anyone else hungry?"

Moss glanced at him, bemused. "Not much really fazes you, does it?"

"Fuck Corporal, way I see it, we're all going to live very short and violent lives. Might as well have some fun while we can," Griffin replied with a guffaw.

"Well, that's a cheerful, if morbid, thought," Poblede announced as she pulled herself up into a sitting position. Grabbing the blanket, she tossed it back to Moss. "If you fuckers won't let me take a nap, then I guess I could use some food too. But no more fucking MREs. I want a real meal."

Moss gestured to a building sitting across the airfield. "That terminal's bound of have some sort of fast food joint. Check in with Sergeant Stalgis before you take off though." Digging through his duffle bag, Moss pulled out a credit chip. "Here's some credits. Buy something for the rest of us."

"Is that a battalion issued credit chip?" Poblede asked as she took the chip.

Moss scoffed. "Are you kidding? First off, why would battalion be issuing out credit chips? Second, even if there were, why the fuck would I get one? I'm just a corporal. No, that's my personal credit chip."

"Dude, I can't take this," Poblede protested and try to hand it back to Moss. Moss refused to take it.

"After everything we've just been through? I think I can afford to buy you guys a shitty meal," Moss pointed out. "Just don't blow all my money on strippers."

Griffin's head snapped up. "There are strippers there?" he excitedly asked.

"What? No. I was joking… you know what? Never mind. Just, go get some food. And take Roer with you," Moss ordered, jerking his head towards Roer, who was sitting in sullen silence with his back turned towards them.

"Come on kid, we're going on a field trip," Poblede announced, climbing to her feet. "Don't worry Roer," she said, slapping his shoulder, "if you're really good, I might even buy you a toy."

"What are you, my mother?" Roer grumbled.

"Ooh, in that case, Pip, can I call you mommy?" Moss heard Griffin ask.

" **No** Griffin. In fact, don't call me Pip either."

"Why not? Moss does it all the time…"

Moss waiting until they had walked away, before moving over and sitting down on the ground next to Norén.

"You alright?" he asked her after a few moments of silence.

Norén didn't even bother looking up from the data pad she was reading from. "I'm fine."

"It's just with what Roer was saying and everything, I kind of wanted to apologize…"

"Don't," Norén interrupted, looking up. "Not your fault. He's young, he's stupid, and doesn't know any better. I shouldn't have gotten so worked up."

"Well, you should be able to sit here without having to listen to such abuse."

"Its fine Corporal," Norén insisted. "I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't have to be."

"No, I get it Corporal. In the eyes of guys like Roer, I'm the enemy. I will always be the enemy. And nothing I do will ever change that. So, I don't even try."

"But you're here, aren't you? I mean, despite what I'm sure is justified reasons for disliking the UNSC, you're still wearing our uniform. You're still beside us, sitting in the trenches, fighting off the Covenant invasion. You see the dangers in mankind being divided just as well as any one of these guys," Moss gestured to the various soldiers in their platoon milling around.

"I hate to burst your bubble Corporal, but I didn't sign up for the UNSC because I had any sort of grand revelation about the bigger picture," Norén drily replied. "If Alluvion hadn't been glassed, I guarantee you I would still be wearing their uniform, sitting in their trenches, fighting off the UNSC invasion."

"Oh," Moss said simply. "Sorry, I guess I don't quite understand this UNSC and Separatist conflict. I mean, I understand the UNSC isn't perfect, and that certain Separatist groups have committed some pretty brutal war crimes but, we're on the verge of extinction. We're staring at the precipice. One wrong move, and mankind goes over the edge. Can't we all just, I mean, I'm not naive enough to believe we could forgive each other. But couldn't we just shelve our personal vendettas long enough to ensure our survival as a species? Then afterwards, we can go back to walloping the shit out of each other if that's what people really want."

Norén stared at Moss for a long time, long enough to make him feel like he'd said something offensive. Just as he was about apologize, Norén suddenly sighed.

"You're an Inner Colonist, aren't you?"

Moss nodded his head. "Yeah, how'd you know?"

"Where are you from?"

"Earth."

Norén's head snapped towards him so quickly, for a moment, Moss was concerned Norén was going to have whiplash.

"Earth, as in, the homeworld Earth?"

"Yes, that's my homeworld. **The** homeworld," Moss confirmed, amused by Norén's reaction.

"Christ," Norén whispered. "Fuck man. I pegged you as an Inner Colonist, but I didn't realize you were Inner, Inner Colonist." She suddenly fixed Moss with a hard gaze. "Well shit, I would have thought you'd be even more gung-ho about the UNSC than Roer is."

"Not really. Most of the people in the city I grew up in preferred the civilian controlled Unified Earth Government and only really see the military controlled UNSC as a necessary evil. Because of that, I think that actually makes us more willing to see the flaws in the UNSC, compared to some of the other colonist around."

"Huh," Norén commented thoughtfully. "Well, that would explain why you don't… can't understand how deep the bad blood between the UNSC and the separatist movement is. There are no separatist groups on Earth. Anyone who didn't want to be a part of the UNSC would have left Earth a **long** time ago."

"I guess not," Moss affirmed.

A long stretch of silence fell over them, before Moss decided to break it.

"If you don't mind me asking," Moss began, "What was it like with the… your military? I mean, what was your MOS? Did you even have MOSs? And, how long were you in the…"

"Alluvion Defense Force," Norén finished. "Or ADF for short. Yes, we had MOSs, but we called them MOSID(2): military occupational structure identification. I was a combat engineer, believe it or not. Joined when I was nineteen, was in for ten years before, you know, the world ended."

"Damn," Moss let out a low whistle. "Ten years? You must have been, what, a Sergeant First Class or Master Sergeant or something?"

"I was a Master Corporal(3). It's about equivalent in rank and responsibility to a buck Sergeant in the UNSC Army," Norén fondly replied. "We never took as nearly the same amount of casualties as the UNSC did, so we were promoted at a much slower rate than you guys are."

"Wow. Roer was right. You should be in charge. You've probably got more experience leading a squad than I do. Maybe even more than Ferguson did," Moss pointed out. Norén shook her head.

"Most UNSC commanders make it a point not to promote anyone who'd ever fought against UNSC soldiers in open conflict to an NCO position. Fact of the matter is, it was really difficult for me to even join the UNSC Army in the first place, and even then I could only join the light infantry units because they didn't want me anywhere near an Insurgent contested world, least I reveal myself as a turncoat. Not that it took much convincing," Norén allowed. "Wasn't interested in fighting other Separatist."

"If you don't mind me asking," Moss said slowly, "what was it like fighting against the UNSC?"

Norén was silent for a moment, and appeared to be in deep thought.

"Difficult," Norén finally said. "We had the support of the local populace, but the UNSC had everything else. Every battle we were in, we could expect to be outnumbered and outgunned by the UNSC. In many ways, the fight against the Covenant now, reminds me of the fight we Separatists had against the UNSC. With our limited supply lines and firepower, we were forced to improvise. A lot. Of course, it was a bit easier for us to do so, mainly because our troops were all volunteers while we were fighting against draftees who didn't even know why they were fighting."

"Kind of like the Airborne, huh?" Moss suggested.

"Pretty much."

There was a burst of a laughter and Moss looked up to see the rest of the squad returning, bags of greasy food in their hands. Moss lifted his hand in greeting, before turning back to Norén, only to see she had retreated away from him and had already returned her attention back to her data pad. Shrugging to himself, Moss walked over to Poblede.

"Got my money biatch?" Moss called in greeting as he approached Poblede.

"Nope. I blew it all on drugs and booze," Poblede sarcastically replied, handing the credit chip back to Moss.

"That's fine. What do you think I was saving the money for?" Moss said as he pocketed his money and reached for one of the bags. "What'd you get me?"

"Cheeseburger, with extra everything. And here," Poblede handed him another bag. "There's like, fifty fucking napkins in there, a bunch of those condiment packets, and all the plastic utensils I could get my hands on because I know you're too much of a cheapskate to actually buy some silverware for yourself6."

"Now, why would I want to go out and waste some money on utensils when I can get them for free at the local fast food joint?" Moss asked as he stashed his loot and food into his duffle bag.

Poblede shook her head. "If you ever get a girlfriend, trust me, you're going to want silverware."

"Hey, question for you Moss," Griffin asked. "You're not an Eagles fan, are you?"

Moss considered the question. "Sort of, kind of, but not really. Granted, I mean, I've only heard a couple of their songs, so, I can't really make a fair assessment. But, from what I have heard, they're not bad."

He trailed off when he realized Poblede, Roer, and Griffin were all staring at him strangely. There was an awkward silence.

"What?" Griffin finally asked.

"What?" Moss echoed.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"What are _you_ talking about?" Moss asked. "You asked me if I liked the Eagles."

"Yeah, the sports team!"

"There's a sports team called the Eagles?" Moss exclaimed. "Wait, why am I surprised? Of course there's a sports team called the Eagles, why wouldn't there be? The eagle is just one of the most prolific animal symbols in history. Even the fucking UNSC uses it as its official insignia." He paused. "What sport are we talking about again(4)?"

"Corporal," Roer began, "I don't know if you realize this, but you are a nerd. Like, with a capital 'N.'"

Moss frowned at him. "Are you quoting the Music Man?"

"Who the hell is the music man?" Poblede exclaimed.

"Not who," Moss said, shaking his head. "What. The Music Man is a play. More specifically, a musical."

"Okay," Roer began, "I'm almost afraid to ask but, what exactly did you do high school?"

"I was a thespian," Moss proudly announced. Griffin's head shot up.

"You're a woman?" he blurted out, his voice full of disbelief. Moss stared blankly at him.

"What the flying fuck are you talking about Griffin?"

"Wait, what did you say you were in high school?"

"A thespian," Moss slowly repeated.

"Isn't that where two women have sex with each other?"

Moss palmed his face while Poblede smacked Griffin across the back of his head. "No, numbnuts," Moss said with a sigh. "That's a _lesbian_. I was a _thespian_. I did theater."

Griffin rubbed his head. "So, what, you did, like ballerina or some shit like that?"

Poblede began chortling. ""Yeah Moss. Did you have a pink tutu with ruffles and shit?"

"Did you do wear tight pants and twirled around in a circle?" Roer added.

"Did you have to do that leg lift thing?"

"You mean an arabesque?" Moss suggested

"Sure, why not?"

Moss shook his head. "No, I wasn't a dancer. I worked on a few dance shows, but I was a theater technician, not a performer. I did lights and sound." Moss paused as a thought occurred to him. "Pip, didn't _you_ use to do ballet?"

Poblede snorted. "Yeah, when I four. My parents were big fans of the arts and wanted me to be a performer when I grew up. But that dream ended when, you know, they died."

Roer shook his head in disbelief. "Man Corporal, to think, I used to beat up guys like you in high school."

"And now I'm in charge," Moss said brightly. "Funny how that works out, huh? It's almost like there's a life lesson to be learned here! Oh, I wonder, what could it ever be?"

"Yeah, well, when I finished school six months ago, I figured it didn't matter anymore."

"Six months ago?" Poblede echoed. "What the... kid, how old are you?"

"I'm seventeen," Roer proudly announced.

"Holy shit," Moss, Poblede, and Griffin all said at the same time.

"Wow, you're really young," Moss said, shaking his head. "And here I was, worried we were insulting you by calling you kid."

"Why, how old are you guys?"

"Not sure," Griffin answered. "The great thing about having been found abandoned on the steps of a church when I was a baby is that I can have my birthday whenever I want. But government figures I got to be about twenty. Or something," he finished with a dismissive shrug.

"Wow, and I thought Moss was old at the age of nineteen," Poblede said slyly.

Moss turned to her. "Pip, you're a month older than me. If I'm old, you must be ancient."

"Some days it feels like it," Poblede admitted. "This job takes its toll on the body you know."

"If you think it's bad now, just wait until you get into your thirties," Norén abruptly said.

"You know, if we live that long," Griffin cheerful point out.

The roar of jet engines filled the air, interrupting the conversation. Moss glanced up to see a dozen Pelicans on approach.

"Finally!" Roer exclaimed. "It's about fucking time!"

Moss couldn't help but nod in agreement as he gathered his belongings. Despite everything, even he had to admit the waiting was beginning to wear thin.

"Man," Poblede said wistfully, staring at the gleaming hulls of the Pelicans as they began their final approach to the airfield. "I should have been a Pelican pilot."

"Really? You wanted to learn how to fly? I didn't know that," Moss asked.

"Yeah man. Think about it. All that open space? No rules, just you and your ship? It would have been epic."

"Huh," Moss said thoughtfully. "Well, then why didn't you?"

"Wasn't smart enough to become an officer."

The Pelicans began landing and Moss turned his back to them and dropped to one knee, grabbing hold of his maroon beret to prevent it from getting blown away by the jet wash. There was some screeching of rubber hitting concrete as the Pelicans landed, before the shriek of the jet engines died down.

"1st Platoon, form up!" Moss heard Lieutenant Lancelot bark.

Gathering his bags, Moss quickly moved into formation with the rest of the platoon. Standing at attention, Moss noticed Stalgis conducting a headcount. It didn't take very long. A platoon like 1st Platoon had an authorized strength of forty-two soldiers. After the capture of Hill 937 though, there were only twenty-three soldiers left in 1st Platoon.

"All the men are present and accounted for sir," Moss heard Stalgis report to Lancelot.

Lancelot nodded, glancing across the row of Pelicans now sitting on the airfield. "1st Squad, take Pelican 4503X. 3rd Squad, 4507X," he assigned. "2nd Squad, with platoon HQ, on 4500X. Load it up!"

Moss immediately broke rank and headed for his designated Pelican. The ramps had been lowered, and the Air Force crew chief was standing at the bottom. Her helmet's visor was depolarized, revealing the annoyed expression on her face.

"Hurry it up people," she snapped, gesturing for Moss to board the craft.

Shrugging to himself, Moss climbed the ramp and headed towards the front of the Pelican. Stashing his baggage in the overhead compartments, Moss unfolded one of the seats and sat down. He began strapping himself in as Poblede claimed the seat next to his.

"So, if you want to fly, why don't you drop a Warrant Officer application packet, see if you can't get commissioned as an Army pilot?" Moss asked, continuing their conversation.

Poblede frowned. "The Army doesn't operate Pelicans Moss."

"But they do operate Ospreys, which are pretty much the same thing, just without the spaceflight capabilities. And the controls are pretty similar to, so theoretically if you learn how to fly an Osprey, you could also know how to pilot a Pelican."

"How would you know Moss? You're a ground pounder, not a flyboy," Poblede pointed out.

"I've racked up like, two hundred hours in _Space Simulator 25k_. I've stared at those controls long enough to know the difference."

Poblede snorted. "That's a video game dude. Skills you learn there doesn't translate to reality. Case in point? You've got twice as many hours in _Destiny,_ but you're still a shit shot."

"True," Moss admitted. "But this is different. _Space Simulator 25k_ is a simulator, which means it simulates reality. It even says so in the title."

Poblede shook her head. "I don't understand how someone as smart as you can be so dumb."

"Well, I did volunteer for a unit whose entire shtick is to jump out of perfectly good aerospace craft. So… yeah."

The whirl of hydraulics filled the air as the Pelican's ramp was raised. There was a loud _CLANK_ of metal as the ramp shut, following by a _hiss_ as the Pelican was sealed shut. As the crew chief walked down the length of the Pelican checking everyone's restraints, a loud whine filled the air as the Pelican's engines activated.

"Good morning ladies and gentlemen!" the Pelican pilot brightly announced from the cockpit. "My name is 1st Lieutenant Virgil "Lucky" Felix and I'll be your pilot this morning. To my left is my copilot, 2nd Lieutenant 'Jaddi' Dotse and making her way to the rear is our lovely head stewardess for today, Senior Airman Kasich!"

Moss leaned forward in time to see Kasich extending the middle finger on her right hand in response. Lucky laughed.

"Don't mind her, she's a little grouchy in the mornings. And in the afternoons. And in the evenings. In fact," Lucky said, comically scratching his head. "Now that I think of it, she's always grouchy. Isn't that right Kasich?"

"Fuck you sir!" Kasich yelled from the back of the Pelican and Lucky let out another bark of laughter.

"Anyways, federal regulations indicated this is a non-smoking Pelican(5). Please note the location of your nearest exit: we don't have any! In the event of a water landing, you may be used a floatation device(6). As always, please keep your hands and feet inside until the Pelican comes to a complete stop. And as always, thank you for choosing the 22nd Airlift Squadron for all your heavy lifting means! Have a wonderful day everyone!"

Shaking his head in mild amusement, Moss scooted forward in his seat until he could look out through the cockpit window. In a military aerospace craft, the cockpit window was the only window and thus, the only way to see out of the Pelican. Moss watched as the Pelican taxi across the airfield until it reached the runway. While Air Force Pelicans were capable of vertical liftoff, if the situation allowed for it, they generally took-off conventionally in order to conserve fuel and prevent too much wear and tear on the engines,

Several Pelicans were already waiting in line and Moss watched as each of them turned onto the runway before rocketing down the short airstrip and into the air. Soon, it was his Pelican's turn and Moss settled back into his seat. The whine of the Pelican engines grew in pitch and the Pelican began racing down the runway. Moss felt his stomach drop as the Pelican took off from the ground. As it did, Moss caught sight of one of the local cities in the distance: Kagawa City.

Kagawa City was one of the many cities on this colony that had been attacked by the Covenant when they invaded months ago but unlike the others, Kagawa never fell, having been furiously defended by the local garrison. Still, the city took heavy damage and even from this distance, Moss could see the burns and craters that pockmarked the city's few remaining skyscrapers.

"What a resilient people," Poblede commented.

"It's a pity that despite the amount of fighting that took place here, we're still going to abandon this world," Moss agreed.

"Yeah. Wait, what did you just say?"

Moss shot her a startled glance. "The UNSC is abandoning this world." Poblede looked shocked and Moss frowned. "You didn't know that?"

"No," Poblede slowly replied. "Why would we do that?"

"Logistics." Poblede looked confused by that answer so Moss decided to elaborate. "Newsaka was only ever important because it was considered to be the gateway to Draco III. And we both know what happened there."

An involuntary shudder passed over the both of them. They knew about the massacre that had happened on Draco III. Their commanders had made them read the intelligence reports and watch the surveillance videos to know what happened to people captured by the Covenant. A hundred thousand civilians, all eaten alive by starving Grunts and Jackals. Moss had seen a lot of nasty shit on the battlefield, but that video he had seen was quite easily the most horrific incident he had ever seen in his entire life.

"Plus," Moss continued after a moment of silence. "Newsaka is no Reach or Mars, or even Skopje. There's nothing important about this world: it's not a manufacturing planet, or even a commercial or agricultural center. All the raw resources on this colony can be found elsewhere and even then, this place isn't even that abundant in the basics. There is nothing here that would warrant the human and material cost it would take to defend this world again. We're only the start of the exodus; the entire civilian populace is going to get relocated. This time next month, the only humans left on this planet will be the bodies." Moss studied Poblede's expression. "You really didn't know?"

"No," she softly replied. "I didn't."

The rest of the trip was conducted in silence, partly because Poblede looked too shocked to hold a conversation with and partly because of all the shaking and rattling the Pelican was generating as it sped through the planet's upper atmosphere drowned out all other noises.

The Pelican noises settled when they reached high orbit around the planet, but at the point Moss was too distracted by the sight that laid in front of them. There, sitting on a backdrop of stars, was the Air Force troop transport ship that would take Moss and the rest of his unit back to their garrison world of Skopje, the _UNSC Gerald O. Young(7)_.

It took fifteen minutes for the Pelican to reach the _Young's_ main hanger and land. Moss waited, with his hand near his the release catch to his restraints, for the Pelican's magnetic clamps to activate, securing the craft to the flight deck inside the ship. Just outside of the Pelican, Moss could hear the hangar bay doors close, and the entire hangar pressurizing.

There was a hiss as the Pelican ramp released, and Moss quickly unstrapped himself from his seat and gathered his bags. He followed his squad as they exited the Pelican and followed one of the Air Force crew members as he led them through the ship's corridors to their assigned cryo bay for the trip back home.

"Listen up!" the airman called out as they entered a locker room adjoining the cryo bay, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. "The ship is departing the system and will make the jump to slipspace in fifteen minutes. All Army personnel are to be in the cryo pods by that time. Start preparing yourself for cryo. Make sure you lock all of your belongings in a locker. It's not our problem if something goes missing. Once you're ready, come see me for your cytoprethaline injection. Once you have been injected, proceed to the cryo bay and situated yourselves in one of the pods. No, two people cannot share the same pod. Once you are all settled in, a technician will come by to begin the put-down cycle. That's it."

The crowd of soldiers began their preparations as Moss wandered around the room. He located a row of available lockers in a row and chose one of the lockers at the end and began packing his stuff away. He was quickly joined by the rest of his squad.

"So, what are your plans for once we get back to the world?" Griffin asked conversationally, but then paused. "Actually, when can we even start taking leave?"

"Well, we've still got a bunch of shit to do before we start demobilizing. Medical assessments, psych evals, equipment accountability, and then Pip's favorite thing to do in life: safety briefings," Moss answered, glancing at Poblede as he said the last part to see how she would react.

"Oh yay, I can't wait," Poblede sarcastically replied. Her shock from the Pelican seemed to have worn off by now, and she sounded back to her normal self, which Moss was grateful for.

"So, bad news, we're looking at a couple of months before we can start to leave," Moss continued. "The good news is, all these briefings will take place during your standard work hours. We'll still have to do morning PT and formation, but the nights will be free and we'll finally have weekends. Might even be able to get a couple of passes to town."

"Sweet," Griffin said. "I'm totally going to spend all of the demobilization period in a drunken haze. Just need the directions to the cheapest bar."

"Now that's a question for Pip," Moss replied.

"Are you trying to insinuate that the stuff I drink is bad, that I'm destitute, or that I'm an alcoholic?" Poblede asked as she began to unabashedly strip naked.

"No, I'm saying I don't know where any of the bars around Fort Glazunov is," Moss retorted. "On the account of, you know, not being a drinker myself."

"Oh. Right."

Moss removed his shirt and folded it up carefully, placing it on the top shelf in his locker. As he did, he noticed Roer kept throwing no-so subtly glances at Poblede as she stripped. Moss supposed he couldn't blame him. Despite the loss of much of her muscle mass due to improper nutrition, and the paleness of her skin due to a lack of exposure to sunlight, Poblede was a fairly attractive woman, especially after a couple months on the frontline.

The thing was, Moss had known Poblede for almost a year now, and having fought and bled next to her, it was hard for Moss to see Poblede as anything more than an unofficially adopted sister of his. Because of that, Moss wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or yell at Roer for looking. He suddenly remembered a conversation he had with Poblede a couple of weeks ago, and he decided to do neither. He instead, asked her a question.

"Hey Pip, are you still planning on getting married when you go home?"

That caught Roer's attention. "You have a fiancée?" he blurted out, his face turning bright red when he caught sight of Moss' knowing gaze. Fortunately, Poblede failed to notice the nonverbal side conversation as she immediately brightened.

"I'm already married. Legally, that is. When we found out we were both about to get deployed, we got hitched, just in case anything happened to us," Poblede explained. "We didn't have time for a ceremony, but we both promised our families we'd hold one once we got back. You know, something to hold on to."

"Married, huh?" Griffin said, scornfully. "Why the fuck would you want to do that? I mean, seriously, why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free(8)?"

"I actually agree," Poblede admitted. "I've been with this guy since freshman year of high school and neither of us felt we needed a document that said we were in love. But, you know, the Army doesn't recognize boyfriends and we were concerned something might happen to us with the war, so we just went ahead and got hitched."

"Ah, young love," Moss mockingly said. "Seriously though, I'm telling you, you better adopt his last name."

"Why is that?" Roer asked.

"Because it's badass."

"What is his name?"

"It's Ajax Svarog," Moss excitedly announced. "For the uneducated, Ajax was an ancient Greek mythical hero, and Svarog is the Slavic god of blacksmithing. How cool is that name?"

"Wow, that is so much cooler than being named after a guy who's constantly getting fucked up the ass by god," Griffin admitted. "Man, now I want to be called Ajax. Or Svarog. Or maybe just Badass. Commander Badass. Nah, Badass sounds better."

"The thing is," Poblede continued, throwing a puzzled look in Griffin's direction. "Piper Poblede has alliteration. Piper Svarog just doesn't roll off the tongue as easily."

"This is true," Moss granted. "But nowhere near as cool. Just think about it, that's all I'm saying." Moss paused. "Hey, can I be your best man at your reception?"

"No, but you can be one of the bridesmaids. Bring your tutu."

Moss shrugged. "As long as your sister is there."

"You have a sister?" Roer asked, suddenly very interested in the conversation again.

Moss couldn't help but burst out laughing as Poblede shot him a very nasty look. He shut the door to his locker and hurried away before Poblede could retaliate.

Receiving his cytoprethaline shot, Moss wandered into the cryo bay. The chambers were already beginning to fill up, but Moss still managed to find a row of five empty cryo pods. Choosing the one in the middle so he could reserve the rest for his squad, he climbed inside, relaxing as his bare back touched the warm foam backing on the inside. As he settled, he abruptly realizing Lieutenant Lancelot was residing in the pod directly across from him.

"Oh, hey LT," Moss called out.

"Corporal," Lancelot said in response. "Excited to finally be rotating back to the world?"

"Sort of. I'll be more when we're finally able to go home," Moss replied.

"Yeah? You got plans?"

"Nothing set in stone sir, but I'm trying to have a family gathering with my immediate family."

"Oh yeah? What's the problem?"

"Problem is timing sir. My younger brother is in high school so he's got class, and my older sister is getting ready to graduate from college and head out to Navy flight school, so we need to meet before she leaves. And then there's the problem where I don't know when I can take leave so we can't really figure out a specific date right now," Moss explained.

"Well, if you get a date, let me know. I'll see what sort of strings I can pull to make sure you make it."

"Really? Thanks sir. What about you? Got any plans sir?"

Lancelot shrugged as best he could inside the cryo pod. "Want to see my son, if my ex-wife will allow it," he said, somewhat bitterly.

"Didn't realize you were married sir."

"On my third wife already. You're not married, are you Shen?" he asked.

"No sir."

"Girlfriend?"

"Nope."

"Boyfriend?"

"I'm not Sergeant Ferguson sir."

Lancelot chuckled. "Well, good for you. ONI would have my head if they heard me say this, but don't ever get married. It's just not worth it. You will always end up broke, both in the heart and in the wallet."

"Uh, thanks sir, I'll keep that in mind," Moss said, somewhat awkwardly.

Fortunately it was at this point the rest of the unit came walking into the bay, putting an end to the conversation. Air Force medics filtered through the bay, stopping by every single pod to make sure the occupants were settled. Once everyone had confirmed, technicians activated the pods.

There was a gentle hissing of pneumatics and Moss watched as the see-through door to his pod slid downwards and shut, sealing him in. The faint sound of releasing glass filled his ears as his pod was flooded with anesthetics, and Moss could swear he felt his thoughts slowing down. The freeze cycle hadn't even begun, yet Moss felt his eyelids growing heavier and heavier. Sometimes, Moss tried to fight the feeling, just to see how long he could last, but today he didn't even bother. He slowly felt himself drift away.

Waking up from cryo was always a bit of a disconcerting experience. Intellectually, Moss knew he'd been asleep for weeks already, but mentally it felt like he had only closed his eyes five minutes ago. As was standard operating procedure, the first thing Moss did was take a deep breath and cough, clearing his lungs of bronchial surfactant build up. Once he had done that, he leaned back and relaxed.

The door to his cryo chamber was already open, but his pod was so warm and comfortable, and his mind was more relaxed than it had been in a long while, Moss simply didn't feel like moving. He knew he had to though. He always liked taking a shower after cryo sleep, even though there was no way he could have gotten dirty while he was under, and he knew if he didn't get up now, all the showers would be taken. Summoning all his willpower, Moss climbed out of his pod.

And froze at the sight of Lancelot doing the same across from him. Whatever peaceful feelings he had, instantly vanished.

There was a specific order when it came to pulling a unit out of cryo. The Air Force simply didn't have enough personnel to monitor every single soldier coming out of cryo so to prevent several hundred bored soldiers from running around amok on the ship, officers were always woken first, followed by senior non-commissioned officers. Once they were awake, the rest of the NCOs would be roused. As they constituted the largest group and, theoretically, the least disciplined, the junior enlist would be the last to be awakened. The only time Lancelot, an officer, would wake up at the same time as Moss, a junior NCO, would be in the event of an emergency.

Lancelot and Moss exchanged startled glances, before simultaneously looking towards the exit, where a large screen was displaying the time and date, to help soldiers orientate themselves. According to the clock, it was the 6th of May, standard military calendar. That right there was another sign to Moss something terrible had happened: they had only been in cryo for seven days. But between the irregularities in slipstream space and the randomized jumps the ship was required to take, as dictated by the Cole Protocol, the trip back to Skopje was scheduled to take two to three weeks.

Before any questions could be voiced, the cryo bay doors slid open and two Air Force Security Forces officers came marching in. What instantly caught Moss' eye was that both airmen were fully decked out in battle gear, including full armor and helmets, and both were toting loaded assault rifles.

"Stand to troopers!" one of the airmen barked, catching the attention of everyone present. "As of thirty mikes ago, this ship was placed at DEFCON 1! All Army personnel are to immediately proceed to the locker rooms and get dressed; full battle rattle! You have five minutes, move!"

"You heard the Lieutenant," Lancelot immediately roared. "Get tactical Soldiers!"

Moss climbed out of his pod and joined the crowd of naked paratroopers surging into the locker room. Ignoring all conversation, Moss headed straight to his locker. Tearing open his duffle bag, Moss began searching for a pair of clean fatigues.

"Hey Corporal, what the fuck is going on?" Roer asked as he joined him.

"Your guess is about as good as mine Roer," Moss replied as he got dressed. "But I can almost guarantee it's got something to do with the Covenant."

Roer paled. "How can you be sure though?" Roer asked. "I mean, maybe it's something else."

"They don't pull an entire brigade out of cryo early just for someone's birthday kid," Poblede replied, sounding grim. "No, shit's about to hit the fan, if it hasn't already."

"Shit, we just got out of combat," Griffin complained. "Couldn't the Covies have waited like a month or two?"

"I don't know, but I'll make sure to ask the Covenant that question when I see them," Moss sarcastically said.

"Would you Corporal? That would be great."

Grabbing a case from his locker, Moss pulled out his body armor and began throwing it on. It was the same set he had on Hill 937, having never had the chance to get another set issued to him. Moss had done his best to repair it; patching holes, buffering scratches, and replacing missing components. The armor was functional, even though it was an eclectic mish mash of forest green, coyote brown, and soot black in color.

Securing all the straps, Moss tested it's flexibility by bending over and throwing on his boots. He had gotten rid of his jungles boots and gotten a new pair of jump boots; similar in appear to the standard Marine Corps combat boot, it differed from his jungled boots in that it was armored, something Moss figured was really important right now.

He had just secured his helmet when Lancelot came walking up.

"Corporal," he called out. Before he could say anything else, Roer interrupted.

"Hey LT, what the heck is going on sir?"

Lancelot shook his head. "Not sure, but I'm willing to put money that it's got something to do with the Covenant."

"How much money sir?" Griffin instantly asked.

Lancelot glared at him. "Private, shut the fuck up and finish getting dressed." He waited until Griffin proceeded to do just that, before gesturing for Moss to follow him.

He led Moss to a corner away from everyone else and turned to him. Moss reflexively snapped to attention.

"Well," Lancelot began, "I was waiting for permission from the skipper to do this, but under the circumstances, I don't really give a shit. Corporal Shen, I'm promoting you to Sergeant and bumping you up to squad lead." As he spoke, Lancelot hit a few buttons on his TACPAD, and Moss' HUD chimed to indicate his rank insignia on his IFF tags had been changed from the duo chevrons of a corporal, to the triple chevrons of a buck sergeant.

"You've be in charge of 2nd Squad, obviously," Lancelot continued to say. "I'm also bumping Poblede up to Corporal. She'll be your assistant squad leader. Not that you really need one, given that 2nd Squad isn't even close to full strength, but fuck it."

"Thank you sir," Moss stuttered, surprised. "But, sir, I've only been a Corporal for a little over a month. Shouldn't someone with a little bit more experience be in charge sir?"

Lancelot snorted. "Yeah, like who?"

"Well, Specialist Norén has at least ten years of combat experience," Moss delicately said, remembering the conversation he had with her a few hours ago. Or rather, days ago. Trying to remember dates after a bout of cryo sleep was annoying. "A fair amount of that as a squad leader."

"That may be true, but what you've failed to mention is at least seven of those ten years of experience was gained while fighting against UNSC forces," Lancelot retorted. "No, fuck that. As far as I'm concerned, a fucking traitor like her shouldn't even be here. ONI should have put her up against the wall and shot her a long time ago. But unfortunately, that's not my call."

"Sir, with all due respect," Moss began but was immediately interrupted by Lancelot.

"Look, Sergeant, I'm getting that you don't feel comfortable with this but frankly, I don't give a shit. I need a new squad leader and whether you believe it or not, you are the most qualified candidate: you've got the experience, the knowledge, and most importantly you've got the respect of your squad. I trust you, now trust yourself." Lancelot waited until Moss reluctantly nodded. "On a side note Sergeant, I like you, you're a nice guy. But try and remember who the enemy is."

"That would be the Covenant, right sir?" Moss instantly replied, a bit more heatedly than he intended.

Moss could feel himself wilt as Lancelot turned and glared at him. As the seconds ticked by, Moss began to wonder if he had accidently gone too far. But before anything could happen, a loud shout caught their attention.

"All eyes here!"

Moss whirled around as the two airmen from before barged into the locker room.

"All officers and senior NCOs, follow me to Conference Room-A for immediate briefing," the airman bellowed. "Everybody else, follow Staff Sergeant Parchure to the armory for immediate re-armament."

Grateful for the interruption, Moss quickly moved away from Lancelot to follow Sergeant Parchure down the corridors to the armory. Lost in thought, he didn't notice Poblede joining him until she spoke.

"Hey, what did the LT want?"

Moss glanced at her. "He promoted me to Sergeant. I'm in charge of 2nd Squad. He also bumped you up to Corporal. You're my assistant squad leader."

"Nice. It's about time I got promoted. I was seriously getting embarrassed that the rookie had a higher rank than me," Poblede cheered before seeing the expression on Moss' face. "What?"

"This is not a good situation Pip," Moss corrected. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm glad you've finally been promoted, but look at us. Half the division is either dead or wounded and the other half suffering from combat fatigue. Now we're about to drop into a situation we know nothing about, only that it's probably Covenant related. Seriously, what do you think our chances of surviving this are?"

Poblede became very still.

"Not very high," she admitted. "But that's part of the job, isn't it? I mean, we both knew before we signed up, there was a very high probability we were going to get killed."

"That's true it's just… I don't have a really good feeling about this Pip," Moss confessed, putting words to the feeling he'd have ever since he left cryo. "I don't think I'm going to make it."

Poblede sighed. "Moss, you said the same damn thing before we left for Newsaka. And look at us now."

"Yeah, the only two people who were originally assigned to the 222nd when we left Skopje. Look around you. Almost everyone here is a replacement, having joined us in the middle of either OP Mossflower or Long Patrol(9). The odds are stacked against us Pip. Our time is almost up."

"Okay, now you're just being melodramatic," Poblede said, rolling her eyes. "Look, Moss, I don't know what to tell you. We can only do what we were trained to do. Just, focus on the mission, okay? Focus on the mission and, we'll be alright. If it makes you feel any better, I've got your back. I'll do everything I can to make sure you're alright."

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess that's all we can do," Moss allowed.

All conversations abruptly ceased when an announcement came over the ship's intercom system.

" _Attention all personnel, stand by for the CO,"_ a robotic voice announced. There was a momentary pause before someone else came onto the intercom.

" _Ladies and gentlemen, for those of you who don't know me, my name is Lieutenant Colonel Amanja Jaff, commander of this vessel. No doubt, many of you are wondering why you have been pulled out of cryo sleep early. Some of you may have already guessed. Approximately two hours ago, at 0800 local time, Winter Contingency was declared on the UNSC colony of Actium. As of right now, latest intelligence reports have indicated the Covenant have made landfall. NAVCOM has ordered all available units to immediately divert their heading and redeploy to Actium."_

" _We are one such unit."_

" _I know many of you have just finished up a campaign against the Covenant. Many of you are tired, hurt, and right now just want to go home. I know because I feel the exact same way. Unfortunately, the Covenant aren't that considerate. They have another launched an invasion on another one of our worlds. Right now, there billions of innocent people, of our people, who desperately need our help. I am asking for each and every single of you, to look into yourselves, to find the strength to perform your duties one more time. For yourselves, for your families, for the warrior standing next to you. Thank you, and carry on."_

Moss and Poblede exchanged glances. They didn't say anything, but Moss did notice the crowd as a whole seemed to move just a bit faster to the armory.

According to the signs stenciled on the walls, the armory was located near the center to the ship, adjacent to the mess hall. For safety reasons, weapons were normally issued and returned through a drawer under a reinforced window located next to the entrance into the armory itself, but today it appeared weapons were being issued through both the window and the armory entrance. Two lines had formed and Moss joined the line feeding to the window, while Poblede joined the line feeding to the door. The line was moving fairly quickly, most likely spurned on by the sense of urgency in the air. As Moss waited, he happen to notice Roer standing in the other line with a devastated look on his face. Moss was about to walk over and enquire as to what was wrong, but then he realized he was next in line.

"Name, rank, service number," the armorer at the window asked.

"Shen, Moss. Cor- Sergeant. 97135 dash 51372 dash Sierra Mike," Moss rattled off.

"What's your unit?"

"Alpha Company, 131st Engineer Battalion, 3rd Brigade, 222nd Airborne Division."

"I'm a squad leader," Moss added in afterthought. It sounded weird, saying that out loud, and Moss resolved not to do so again until he'd gotten use to the idea first.

"Wait here," the airman ordered, and disappeared into the back room. He reappeared moments later with an MA37 assault rifle and a M6G pistol.

Moss stared blankly at the pistol for a moment before remembering that as a squad leader, he would now be issued a sidearm. Shrugging to himself, Moss grabbed both weapons.

"Sign here," the airman ordered, sliding a data pad towards Moss.

Ignoring the data pad for the moment, Moss instead began to perform a quick functions check on his newly issued weapons.

"You don't need to do the Sergeant," the armorer irritably said as Moss racked the charging handle on his rifle a few times to test the strength of the springs. "These weapons are good, I checked them out myself."

Moss was tempted to ask the man if he was willing to trust his life to a rifle a stranger had inspected for him, but he decided not to belabor the point. Instead, he commanded the rifle's computer to zero the sights in for three hundred meters before glancing through them. The rifle's computer instantly scanned the settings Moss had stored in his neural interface and automatically adjusted the iron sights to compensate for Moss' eyesight.

Confident there were no obvious flaws to the weapons, Moss grabbed the data pad and signed it.

"Thanks Sergeant, so glad I have your approval," the armorer said, voice dripping with sarcasm as Moss returned the data pad. "Do I have your permission to continue doing my job?"

Moss was tempted to snap at him, especially since the armorer was a lower rank than him, but decided to chalk up the man's attitude to the stress of the situation. Instead, he decided to ask a single worded question.

"Ammo?"

"Hanger bay three," the airman snapped. "Next!"

Moss had no idea where hanger three was, but he figured he would just go in the same direction everyone else was. As he walked down the halls, he encountered Roer, looking lost. Remembering Roer's expression from earlier, Moss decided now was a good time to investigate.

"Hey Roer!" Moss called out. "You alright?"

Roer turned to him with a wild look in his eyes. "Corporal, they said Actium is being invaded."

Moss blinked in confusion. "I know Roer, they made a big announcement over the intercom. Did you not hear it?"

"Corporal," Roer said, sound desperate. "I'm from Actium."

For a moment, Moss felt his heart stopping and internally, he began to panic. Moss was ashamed to admit, he was panicking not out of fear for Roer's family, but because Moss had no idea how to react to this unexpected situation.

"My whole family lives there," Roer continued to say, too distracted to notice Moss' internal freak-out. "My mom, my stepdad, my little sister. My little sister's dog! I mean, I don't even like that stupid dog but they're there with the Covenant and I'm here and I don't know what to do! What the fuck am I supposed to do Corporal?" Roer finished, sounding close to tears.

His reaction spurred Moss to react. Grabbing Roer by the shoulders, he pulled him off to the side of the corridor as to not block the way, and looked him right in the eyes.

"Specialist, look at me," Moss ordered with the calmest voice he could muster. "Breath Roer, breath. Take a deep breath and let it out slowly."

Moss waited until Roer had done just that. "Now, I'm not going to lie to you and tell you that your family is fine, because I honestly don't know. But let's look at this situation logically. Right now, all we know is that the Covenant have invaded Actium. But Actium is huge, okay? For all we know, the Covenant have hit the planet on the complete opposite side your family lives in. They might not even be in the same hemisphere!"

"And even if they are," Moss continued, "Actium is a military planet. There are literally millions of soldiers stationed on the surface. Like, how many people in your neighborhood were current or former military? A lot, right?" Roer nodded. "They're not going to just let the Covenant walk in and take over their homes. I guarantee you, they're going to do everything they can to stop, or slow the Covenant down until reinforcements arrive. And reinforcements are coming. We're coming. As soon as we get there, we're going to kill every single inhuman son of a bitch on that surface because we're paratroopers and that is what we do. But until we get there, the best thing you can do, for everybody, is to focus on the task at hand. And right now, that task is rearmament. So let's go to that hanger and get some ammo. Can you do Specialist?"

"Yes Corporal," Roer replied, still sounding shaky, but a bit more determined.

"Good man," Moss barked, slapping Roer on the shoulder. "Go."

Moss waited until Roer had jogged down the corridor, before gesturing at Poblede, who had been lurking just around the corner, to join him.

"I want you to do me a favor: talk to the kid," Moss requested.

"Why, what's up?" Poblede asked.

"Apparently, he's from Actium."

"Oh. Well, shit," Poblede dumbly replied. "Wait, why me?"

"Because I'm pretty sure you and Norén are the only people in the entire platoon whose homeworld has been attacked by the Covenant. And I highly doubt he's going to open up to Norén, especially given her background."

Poblede shook her head. "Moss, you do remember I was five when Arcadia was glassed by the Covenant, right? And that both my parents died in the invasion? Not exactly a story with a happy ending."

"I know. But you'll be able to empathize with him far better than I can, especially considering where I'm from. Look, I'm not asking you to say much, just ask him how he's feeling. If he wants to open up, just listen. If he doesn't, well, you tried."

"Fine," Poblede reluctantly said. "But I don't even know what to say to him!" she called out as she walked away.

"And you think I did?" Moss said to himself, before heading to the hanger.

Entering the hanger, Moss took a look around. The room was massive, nearly running the full length of the ship. Despite its size, there wasn't a lot of room to walk around. An entire squadron of Pelican transport crafts were currently docked inside, with a horde of Air Force maintenance technicians swarming around each one, refueling, loading weapons, and in general doing some last minute maintenance. Scattered in between everything were hundreds of Army paratroopers, trying to make their way around.

Moss maneuvered his way through the crowd until he found a docking station that was missing a Pelican. In its place, several tables had been set up. Stacked on top of the tables were hundreds of ammo cans for every single caliber used by the military, boxes full of empty magazines, all sorts of hand grenades, as well as tons of other supplies a soldier would need for an extended campaign: bottled water, MREs, batteries, powdered coffee, cigarettes, cans of biofoam, chewing tobacco, etc. Moss headed straight for the table of ammunition. Moss had no idea what to expect, so he wasn't sure what supplies he needed to bring but one thing he was sure to need was ammo. And lots of it.

As he walked towards the table, he noticed Griffin and Norén standing nearby, having a conversation. Or, more correctly, Norén was working, Griffin was talking. As Moss walked closer, he saw Norén was busy spray painting the Alluvion's colonial flag onto her chest armor.

"All I'm saying is," Griffin was saying as Norén worked. "How many times do we get to fight on a planet where the entire place is a free-fire zone? This is where the fun begins."

"Dude," Moss said, entering the conversation. "You're from Mamore. Between all the gangs, the Separatist, the local law enforcement, and the UNSC garrison, the entire planet might as well be considered a free-fire zone."

"Well, this time I'll actually get to be behind the gun, not in front of it," Griffin nonchalantly retorted.

"You know, that's only in Mato Grosso where the violence is that prevalent," Poblede announced as she joined them, Roer in tow. "The region where I'm from, Novo Janeiro, is perfectly safe."

"Corporal, do we have an idea what to expect, what to prepare for?" Norén interrupted.

"Nope. But I suspect we're about to find out," Moss replied, spotting Stalgis making his way through the crowd towards them.

"2nd Squad. Platoon briefing, right now. Leave the ammo, we'll deal with it when we're done," Stalgis barked.

Abandoning the magazine he had picked up, Moss followed Stalgis as he led them to a corner where Lancelot and the rest of 1st Platoon were gathered. As soon as Moss and his squad settled, Lancelot activated a hologram projector he was carrying.

"Actium," Lancelot began without preamble. A holographic image of a planet appeared in mid-air. Moss studied it. To his untrained eyes, all planets looked the same to him, all having been terraformed decades ago to emulate Earth's atmosphere, but Actium seemed a bit smaller. Also in contrast to the blue jewel that was Earth, Actium had a reddish color to it. Not quite as red as say, Mars, but somewhere in-between. A sort of magenta color, if Moss had to guess.

"Inner colony, the only inhabited planet in the Ambracian System, and home to a little over seven hundred million registered citizens. Blah blah blah. Information you need to. Surface gravity is at 0.8g compared to the 1.3g of Newsaka. That means we'll be able to carry more, for less effort. Also, days are longer on Actium. Average day is about 35.5 hours. Not that it matters because it's winter time where we're going." Lancelot pushed a button and hologram zoomed in until it showed a single region on one of Actium's continents, bordered by an ocean to the east and a mountain range to the west and northwest. "Thracia Province. This is where the Covenant have made landfall."

There was a sharp intake of breath behind him and Moss glanced back. Roer was focusing very intently on the image, having gone pale. Moss managed to catch his eye and Roer gave a single nod in response to Moss' unspoken question: yes, Thracia Province was where he was from.

Moss couldn't help but mentally swear. What were the odds?

"How many Covenant have hit the surface, no one really knows, but recon suggest there's a **minimum** of over two hundred thousand troops. That doesn't sound like much, but the Covies are reinforced with armored vehicles, artillery, and close air support. And as usual, the split-lips are leading the charge. Their objective is clear: establish and then expand the beachhead by destroying all local resistance. To do that, they've got to take this city." Lancelot zoomed in on a nearby city just north of the Covenant landing zone. "Byzas, the provincial capital of Thracia. Our job is to prevent the fall of this city. So, our mission is simple: reinforce the local garrison and hold Byzas, no matter the cost."

The leader of 1st Squad abruptly raised his hand.

"Who is defending the city sir?" he asked when Lancelot acknowledged him.

"City falls under the responsibility of the Army's XIV Armored Corps, but only one of the Corps' divisions is actually present: the 53rd Armored Division."

"The same 53rd Armored that was annihilated on Draco III?" the same soldier from before exclaimed.

"Yeah. Actium is their garrison planet. They were in the process of being rebuilt," Lancelot grimly replied.

Murmurs broke out among the platoon.

"Are you telling us sir, that the city is being defended by a division of replacements?" someone asked.

"Pretty much," Lancelot admitted. "That's part of the reason why we're going in. Good news is, we'll have plenty of fire support. Aside from all the Army fire and aviation brigades, the Air Force has several squadrons of gunships in the AO and the Navy has a small task force of patrol ships and submarines stationed some thirty klicks east of the city, just off the coast."

"Now, keep in mind Troopers that everything I just told you is based on the information we have at the moment. We've got an hour before we drop out of slipspace, and with how fluid things are on the ground, the situation is going to have changed by the time we arrive. But for now, we are most definitely on the defense for this one. Now, I'm going to turn the briefing over to Sergeant First Class Stalgis, who will go over our tactical operations and loadouts."

Lancelot sat down and was quickly replaced by Stalgis.

"As soon as we arrive in system, we'll be taking Pelicans down directly to the city; we will **not** be jumping into combat. Pelicans will transport the brigade in three waves; we're part of the second wave. Now, be advised, because the _Young_ is a transport ship, the moment we arrive in system, this ship will be turned over to civilian authorities to assist in the evacuation of the colony. That means, when the Pelicans return, they will be loaded down with civilians. Very desperate civilians, with sticky fingers. So, if you have any valuables, see me after the briefing and we'll lock it in the ship's armory."

"Now, loadouts. Weapons and ammo only. If you've got a three liter hydration pack and you want to bring that, fine, but that's the extent of it. Byzas has plenty of food and water, it's ammo they need, so I want every trooper to be carrying at least double the standard combat load. Also, explosives. I want every squad to bring along, at the very least, two of each: satchel charges, TR/9 trip mines, and Antlion AP mines. I'll leave it to the squad leaders to determine who's carrying what. Squad leaders, I also want to see you carrying along a bag of smoke grenades. Finally, construction gear. We're bringing along sandbags and bales of concertina wire to set up defensive positions, so bring along your entrenching tools." Stalgis paused and looked across the crowd assembled in front of him. "I know this is a lot of stuff we're going to have to carry, but we're on the defensive here troopers, and about half this shit is going to be immediately turned over to the 53rd. So save your bitching." He turned to someone in the crowd. "Doc Westley has got some medical need to know information for us. Doc?"

Doc Westley stood up. "Right, so it's winter time right now in Byzas. We're looking at about thirty centimeters of snow on the ground right now, more forecasted to fall later tonight. Temperatures are forecasted to be a high of negative one degrees, with temperatures as low as negative seven. I bring this up because right now because we're extremely susceptible to the cold, our bodies having gotten used to the two months we've spent in the Newsaka tropics. So make sure you dress warmly. Also, dehydration. You might not feel it, but you lose just as much water in cold weather as you do in hot weather, especially once we build up a sweat. So, don't wait until you feel thirsty, take a sip of water every chance you get. Also, injuries. With sub-zero temperatures and thick clothing, it's going to be hard to tell when someone is injured. So if someone gets hit, be sure to thoroughly check for wounds. Another thing. If you do have a wounded soldier, make sure to keep them warm. Freezing temperatures like this, you're going to see a rapid onset of circulatory shock. Believe it or not but circulatory shock kills more wounded soldiers than the wound itself."

An image of Shin's lifeless eyes staring into the night sky flashed through Moss' mind, and he couldn't help but shudder. He resolved to do whatever he could to ensure he had some thermal blankets packed in his backpack.

"And that's all I've got," Westley announced. She turned to Lancelot. "Sir?"

"A few more things," Lancelot announced as he stood back up. "Chain of command. Obviously, command of the platoon goes me, and then Sergeant First Class Stalgis. However in the event either or both of us are killed or wounded, platoon command is as follows: 1st Squad leader, then 3rd Squad leader, and lastly, 2nd Squad."

Moss nodded his head at that. It made sense, he began the last link in the chain of command, having only been promoted to Sergeant a few moments ago.

"To prevent the decapitation of the entire platoon command with a single strike," Lancelot continued. "Marching order will be as follows: 2nd Squad and the command team, minus the platoon sergeant, will ride down in the Pelican together. Meanwhile, Sergeant First Class Stalgis will ride down with 3rd Squad, while 1st Squad, being the biggest, will ride down alone."

"Next thing, radio communications. To keep things simple, the entire brigade is reusing the same radio channels and call signs we had during the Battle of Hill 937 on Newsaka. That means we are Sledgehammer-1. UNSC forces on Actium have their own call signs, but we don't know what they are right now. A list will be provided to all squad leaders once we touch down."

"Now, civilians. A bunch of you have already come up to me to ask about them. I realize this is going to be the first time that we might encountered a mass amount of them on the battlefield so here's the deal: they are **not** our problem. You see a bunch of civilians in your AO, send them to the rear but we are not going out of our way to rescue them. This may seem callous but our first priority is to engage and hold back the enemy. Everything else is secondary. Are we clear?"

A murmur of "yes sirs," answered him, and Moss stole a glance at Roer's face half concerned about how he would react to more bad news. Roer's face was completely still as if he had gone into total lockdown. Moss wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing, but he quickly forgot that train of thought as another thought occurred to him and he raised his hand.

Lancelot paused in his briefing.

"What is it Sergeant Shen," he asked.

"Are we allowed to contact our families' sir? Let them know what's going on?"

Lancelot shook his head. "Unfortunately, due to OPSEC(10) reasons, no non-military transmissions are allowed to be broadcasted. But, make some recordings and give them to Sergeant First Class Stalgis."

"And I'll make sure battalion S-2 gets them," Stalgis promised.

Lancelot nodded. "Now, there's one last thing I want to emphasis here. We cannot afford to lose Actium. Actium is no Newsaka. Unlike Newsaka, this colony is essential to the UNSC war efforts. Due to the unusually high concentration of iron ore in the crust, Actium is one of the largest producers of military ground vehicles. Scorpions, Grizzlies, Warthogs, Mongooses, Armadillo IFVs, and Bison APCs are all built here. I think the factories account for something like 15% of military vehicles production, which doesn't sound like much, but that's across the entirety of UNSC controlled space. For those of you who can't do math, that is a shit ton of vehicles being manufactured." He looked around, making eye contact with each and every single person in the platoon. "We have to hold Actium. Full stop."

Lancelot held his gaze for a few moments before relaxing. "Are there any questions?" he asked, looking around expectantly. When no one raised their hand, he said, "So. Right now we're at T minus 63 minutes to launch. We've got a lot of shit to do, not a lot of time to do it. You are all dismissed."

"Let's make this happen Soldiers!"

* * *

1\. A 'Black Hat' is a nickname for instructors at the US Army Airborne School

2 &3\. MOSID and Master Corporal are both from the Canadian military. Just so we're clear, its association with an Innie group in this story is not intended to be a commentary on the Canadian military; I just needed a military structure that was different, yet similar, to the US military and the Canadians just happen to be the one I could find the most information on.

4\. The "Eagle sports team and Eagle band" confusion joke is blatantly stolen from a story I read on the website _NotAlwaysWorking._ Unfortunately, I can't remember which one it was and google search is failing me, so I can't link it here to give it proper credit. If anyone knows it, send me a message so I can cite it here.

5\. _Black Hawk Down_

6\. Dropship, _Starcraft_

7\. The UNSC _Young_ is named for United States Air Force pilot and Medal of Honor awardee Lieutenant Colonel Gerald O. Young.

On the night of November 8-9, 1967 during the Vietnam War, then Captain Young, piloting an HH-3E "Jolly Green Giant" helicopter, attempted to rescue an Army reconnaissance team that had been compromised, despite knowing two helicopters had already been shot down in a previous attempt. During the rescue attempt, his helicopter began taking hostile fire, and was ultimately shot down by an RPG. Surviving the crash, Captain Young was able to not only escape the burning aircraft, but also rescue the only other survivor. Afterwards, Captain Young was able to evade capture for more than seventeen hours until additional friendly rescue craft could be brought into the area.

8\. _Red vs. Blue,_ episode 4, season 1

9\. Mossflower and Long Patrol are both book titles taken from the series _Redwall,_ written by author Brian Jacques

10\. OPSEC: Operational Security

Headcanon Notes:

\- Insurgent Groups: The way I imagine it, the difference between the Alluvion Defense Force and other canon Innie groups like the United Rebel Front is similar to the differences between the North Vietnamese Army (NVA) and the Vietcong (VC) during the Vietnam War: one was a trained, well equipped regular fighting force while the other was an armed group fighting a guerrilla war. Another, more modern, real-world example would be the difference between the Kurdish Peshmerga and the Kurdish PKK.

\- Air Force & Navy: In my mind, the responsibilities of the UNSC Navy and Air Force can be divided like this: Navy is responsible for offensive actions (so they have all the frigates, destroyers, battleships, etc.) while the Air Force is responsible for support operations (so they have all the transportation ships; troop transports, aircraft carriers, freighters, etc.) I would imagine there would be some overlap (Navy would operate "assault carriers" to provide fighter support while the Air Force would operate "gunships" which would pretty much be upgunned corvettes to protect their ships,) but ultimately if it has a MAC, it would be a Naval ship. If it can carry more than a squadron of fighters or brigade of soldiers, it would be an Air Force ship.

\- Attack Transport: I originally had a description of how I envisioned a UNSCAF attack transport was like within the chapter itself, but I cut it out because I felt like it interrupted the flow of the story. But in case anyone was curious, here it is now, in my headcanon notes:

Looking very much like a giant metal box with three engines strapped to the rear, the _Young_ was roughly the same size as a UNSC Navy _Charon_ -class frigate. Unlike the _Charon_ -frigates, the _Skalsk_ was capable of carrying approximately 5,000 passengers, or the rough equivalent of one airborne brigade combat team. Furthermore, there was still enough room to carry all the vehicles and equipment an airborne brigade would need to fight a war, as well as enough supplies and munitions for seventy-two hours of non-stop combat. In order to accommodate room for all the cargo though, the _UNSC Gerald O. Young_ carried no offensive armament, being only equipped with sixteen M910 point defense turrets for protection. Like all troop transports in the Air Force inventory, the _Young_ was designed to be capable of landing directly on a colony's surface for faster loading and unloading. However, the _Young_ was unique in the fact that it carried its own Pelican Air Group, making it a more versatile ship in an emergency situation.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

 _ **UNSC Gerald O. Young,**_ **High Orbit, Actium  
May 6, 2545  
1217**

What was with the military's obsession with penises?

That was something Moss just couldn't figure out. It seemed as though no matter where Moss went, whether it be a land installation or a ship, an Army fort or a Naval station, every time he went to use the bathroom, there would be at least one image of a penis depicted on the wall. It could be something simple, such as a one-eyed "anaconda," or something more elaborate, such as this mural Moss was currently staring at, depicting the epic struggle between "Dickasaurs" and a swarm of flying "Peniscorns" over the skies of downtown "Dingdongpolis."

Moss had to admit though, that was pretty creative.

Moss wanted to say the obsession with the male genitalia was because the military was predominantly comprised of men. But a quick search on Waypoint proved that wasn't true. Between the draft and two concurrent wars, the gender composition throughout the entire UNSC armed forces was roughly 56% male, 37% female, and 7% other. Though his research did reveal that the gender divide was more prominent when looking at individual service branches, with males forming roughly 80% and 60% of the Marine Corps and Army, respectively, versus the even 51% in the Navy and Air Force. There were no statistics on the breakdown of the Colonial Militia, at least none that Moss could find. The gender breakdown of the Army might have explained the graffiti on the wall, except this was an Air Force ship.

Moss' next theory was that the obsession came about because the military was made up mostly of immature draftees straight out of high school. But again, the statistics proved him wrong. According to information released by ONI, only 35% of the armed forces were draftees. The official reasoning for the low number of conscripts was that because the war against the Covenant was that of survival, more people felt the military would give them a better chance of survival, if not for themselves, than for their families. That sort of made sense to Moss, but he couldn't help but wonder if certain branches of the military weren't somewhat skewing the results. The Marine Corps and the Army's light infantry forces (Airborne, Air Assault, Ranger, and Special Operations) were all comprised, with some exception, of volunteers. Or perhaps the low number of conscripts was because the Army had lowered enlistment standards to the point they were accepting anyone with at least two brain cells to rub together. That was always a possibility.

Of course, that was assuming the number was even correct. With ONI, one always had to take what they said with a boulder of salt.

With the assumption that most soldiers were merely kids straight out of high school, that was also incorrect. Again, because of the Covenant-Human War, it appeared most soldiers were opting to stay in the service longer, with advances in science and technology (better medicine, cryo sleep,) allowing them to do just that. As a result, the average age across the entire UNSC armed forces was 40. A surprisingly high age to be sure, but the cynic in Moss couldn't help but wonder if that number was also being skewed because most of the soldiers under the age of 25 were assigned to the combat troops, who were doing most of the fighting and dying, whereas most of the older soldiers were rear echelon types, who weren't seeing nearly the same amount of combat. What was the saying? 'War is young men dying and old men talking?'

Moss sighed. With all the hard data he had access to countering all his theories, Moss was completely out of ideas. He decide to shelve this mental discussion he was having with himself for another time. Putting away his TACPAD, Moss stood up, and cleaned himself off. Exiting the stall, Moss headed to the sink and washed his hands. He ran his wet hands through his hair, trying to flatten it. In accordance with airborne tradition, Moss had shaved his head into a mohawk, also known in the airborne as the Screaming Eagle cut for whatever reason. According to paratrooper lore, ancient paratroopers had shaved their heads in this style just before dropping into combat, to make themselves look more fearsome. That was something Moss never quite understood: did ancient paratroopers not wear helmets? Because if they did, how the hell would anyone see what their hair looked like? And even if they did, a mohawk was far from scary. Moss just figured it had something to do with the weird, ancient social norms at the time. Nevertheless, Moss had to admit shaving his hair in this style definitely made personal hygiene in the field much easier, which was primarily the reason why he did it.

Putting his helmet back on, Moss exited the bathroom and walked back to the main corridor just outside one of the ship's hangers to rejoin his unit. The _Young_ had dropped out of slipspace some seventy minutes ago, joining the remaining Actium defense fleet in high orbit over the colony. It had taken about thirty minutes for the ship to receive permission to launch their Pelicans, at which point the first wave, consisting of all three of 3rd Brigade's infantry battalions, had deployed. The trip to Byzas and back was estimated to take anywhere between thirty to forty minutes, which meant the Pelican were due back any moment now to pick up the second wave, consisting of the rest of 3rd Brigade's combat troops: the cavalry scout squadron, the field artillery battalion, and of course the brigade's two assigned combat engineering companies.

Westley glanced up as Moss sat back down and put his stuff back on.

"You alright there Sergeant?" she asked softly.

"Yep. Fine, thanks."

"Upset stomach?" she asked, sympathetically. "I've got some pills to help settle it if you like."

Moss shook his head. "No thanks Doc. It's just nerves."

Westley bobbed her head in understanding. "Bet you know how the paratroopers in 1944 felt as they were getting deployed to the Ardennes Forest to stop the Nazi advance during the Battle of the Bulge," she suggest.

"I was actually thinking of something more recent, and more to do with our division's history" Moss admitted. "July, 2495. Battle of Katara Pass during the Skopje Uprising near the start of the Insurrectionist War. The self-styled 'Skopje Liberation Army' launches a massive surprise attack against local UNSC forces, causing a rout. The SLA then begin an advance through Katara Pass towards the UNSC controlled capital of Kratovo, with the stated intention of eliminating all UNSC presence on Skopje.

"And the only fighting force left to stand in their way is Brigadier General Vasili Glazunov(2) and his 222nd Airborne Division," Westley added.

Moss nodded. "In a seventy-five hour long battle, the 222nd Airborne Division manages to stop eleven enemy divisions in its tracks, holding them back long enough for the UNSC to reorganize."

"Thus preventing Skopje from falling into the hands of the Insurgency, and putting General Glazunov and the 222nd 'Jackalope' Division into the history books," Westley finished. "Yeah, I know, I studied history in school. And yeah, the parallels between that battle and this one are similar. History has a funny way of repeating itself. I just hope it doesn't repeat itself too closely today."

"Why's that?"

"Don't you remember what happened at the end?" Westley asked. "The 222nd was almost completely wiped off the face of the planet. 95% of the division was either KIA or MIA by the end of the battle. And the few that did survive, well, they were pretty much traumatized for the rest of their lives."

"Well," Moss lamely said, "what is it someone once said? 'What we do now echoes through eternity?'"

"Could it please not echo right now? I'm trying to sleep," Poblede abruptly said from where she was laying on the ground, trying to take a nap. Moss turned to her.

"Dude, what is it with you and sleeping? I swear, every time I turn around, you're trying to take a nap."

"Operative word here being 'trying' Moss," Poblede grumbly retorted. "Every time I try, you're always there, yapping away. I thought you didn't even like talking."

"Just making sure you're still breathing," Moss cheerfully teased.

"Hum. Just as well I suppose. Looks like we're about to move out." Poblede gestured to the end of the corridor, and Moss glanced at what she was pointing at. The two Air Force Security Forces members that were guarding the blast doors that separated the corridor from the hanger had suddenly become alert. One of them stood up.

"Listen up!" he called. "Pelicans are inbound, and they're carrying a fuckload of civilians! Make a hole in the center of the corridor so we can get them out, and get you guys on!"

"Here we go again," Poblede sighed. "Help me up, will you?"

Moss staggered to his feet, barely able to stand up himself under the weight of all the crap he was carrying. And it was a lot of stuff: he was wearing several layers of clothing, including an outer layer of waterproof clothing, and a balaclava to protect his face and body from the expected snow and moisture. On top of that, he was wearing all of his armor which included: his CH252 combat helmet with a side mounted flashlight, jump boots with integrated shin guards, knee pads, gloves, his full set of M52B body armor with blast diaper, GUNGNIR pauldrons, and UA/NxRA thigh armor, as well as his shooting glasses.

Attached to his belt, Moss had the Army required minimum amount of eight rifle magazines(3) in four Army issued magazine pouches (two per pouch.) To carry the extra amount of ammo as required by Lancelot and Stalgis, attached to his cuirass plate was an aftermarket chest rig (which Moss had acquired before deploying to Newsaka) with another six magazines, as well as a two-mag pouch strapped to his right thigh. He was also carrying four pistol magazines attached to the front of his chest rig. Including the ones loaded in his weapons, Moss was carrying seventeen rifle magazines for a total of 510 rounds of ammunition (the magazines were only loaded with 30 rounds because Army issued magazines had a tendency to jam when topped off with the full 32 rounds,) as well as 40 pistol rounds in five magazines.

Other equipment Moss was carrying including his M6G magnum strapped to his left thigh, two M9 fragmentation grenades in pouches strapped to his belt, his TACPAD attached to his right forearm, his M11 bayonet and sheath attached to his belt, a three liter hydration pack strapped to his back, his multi-tool, and his IFAK which contained two fresh cans of biofoam, a couple of tourniquets, a pair of scissors to cut away clothing, as well as a small container of general painkillers. Extra ammunition included a bandolier of twelve, 40mm grenades (5 smoke, 5 HEDP, 2 flares) for Poblede draped around his waist, and two, one hundred round belts for a general purpose machine gun thrown around his shoulders. His platoon didn't have any M247 GPMGs assigned to them, but Moss figured the 53rd had to have a couple of them in usage. If worse came to worse, Moss could just de-link the rounds and use them in his assault rifle.

The scary thing was, all that equipment was just stuff Moss was carrying on his person. Moss still had an entire assault pack he needed to bring with him, of which, contained on the inside a couple of thermal blankets, one TR/9 trip mine, several blocks of C-12 plastic explosives, a small pouch of blasting caps and fuses, one spool of electrical wire for his C-12, two spools of detonating cord, some tape, and spare batteries. Attached to the outside of the assault pack for easy access, Moss had six smoke grenades of various colors, two thermite incendiary grenades, two white phosphorus grenades, a bundle of IR chemlights, and his entrenching tool. He also had a couple bags containing empty sandbags, a bale of concertina wire, and his rifle. All in all, Moss was probably carrying twice his body weight worth of equipment. Moss really hated being burdened like this because he could barely move, but fortunately being on the defensive meant he wouldn't have to.

Grabbing Poblede by the hand, he hauled her up to her feet, before grabbing her assault pack off the ground and helped her put it on. In return, she helped him put on his own backpack. Tightening the straps so the backpack was secure, together they grabbed the bags of construction gear and waited. Moss hoped the Pelicans hurried up. Just standing there was tiring him out. Moss supposed he should just be glad the Air Force had decided to lower the temperature on the ship in order to help the Army acclimate to the expected weather conditions on the ground because he didn't want to even think about how he would feel if he was this burdened and sweating at the same time.

There was a mute _thunk_ and the ship trembled slightly, as if it had just gotten hit.

"What was that?" he heard Roer ask.

"Hanger doors," Lancelot answered. "Pelicans have returned."

This was confirmed moments later when the light above the corridor turned green. There was a hiss of gas releasing, and then the blast doors slid open, revealing a large crowd of civilians.

"Hey, hurry it up people!" Lancelot urged, as the civilians began surging down the corridor. "Keep it moving people, keep it moving!"

"I need a doctor!" a man yelled, running up, holding small child in his arms. "My daughter was hurt! I need a doctor!"

Westley made a move towards him, but Stalgis stopped her by grabbing ahold of her shoulder.

"Sir, keep moving down the hall," Stalgis ordered, pointing with his free arm. "Air Force medics are down this corridor, they'll be able to help. Just keep moving."

"Thank you!" the man yelled as he dashed down the hall.

Westley brushed Stalgis' hand off her shoulder, glaring at him. Stalgis looked unapologetic. "Focus," he ordered. "We've got a job to do."

Shaking his head, Moss glanced over at his squad and noticed Roer was carefully studying the faces of each civilian as they ran by. As the crowd started to thin, Moss caught his eye and sent him a questioning look. Roer sadly shook his head. No, no one from his family had been in the crowd. Sending him a sympathetic look, Moss looked forward as the corridor cleared.

"Troopers!" Lancelot bellowed. "Move out! Double time!"

Hefting his bags in one hand and holding onto his rifle in the other, Moss followed the crowd as they jogged into the hanger. Upon entering, the crowd began separating as individual squads headed to their assigned Pelicans for the trip to the surface. Stalgis separated from them, joining 3rd Squad as they boarded their Pelican.

Moss followed closely behind Lancelot as he led them to theirs. As he moved, Moss looked around, studying the hulls of the Pelicans to try and determine what to expect. For the most part, aside from some darken hulls and scratches, most of the Pelicans appeared to be intact, indicting limited flak, which meant the run to the surface had been mostly unopposed. Though, Moss did notice a couple empty docking stations, which meant it hadn't been entirely a milk run either.

Lancelot led them directly to their assigned Pelican, 4500X, which Moss remembered as the Pelican that had brought them up to the ship from Newsaka a week ago. Sure enough, the crew chief, Airman Kasich, was standing at the base of the open ramp, looking annoyed as before. More alarmingly though, Moss noticed the blacken hull of the Pelican, and the small team of Air Force mechanics working frantically to weld on some extra metal plates to the hull.

"Senior Airman, what's the situation on the ground? What happened here? Is this bird okay to fly?" Lancelot demanded to know as they approached.

Kasich gestured randomly. "It's a fucking shitshow down there sir. Navy managed to destroy one of the split-lips' battlecruisers just before we launched so the skies were mostly clear, but the damn Covenant are getting AA batteries set up. Starting taking a shit ton of flak about three minutes out from the LZ. Took a near hit, had some shrapnel penetrate the hull. No casualties, but damn near took my head off." She pointed at the side of her helmet, which was now sporting a fresh, deep, vertical scratch. "Might have also damaged our electromagnetic shielding, don't know. Either way, once we get these holes patched, we're cleared to launch."

"Good," Lancelot said and gestured for Moss and his squad to board.

Making his way up the ramp and ducking under the rear mounted machine gun, Moss took a seat near the doorway dividing the cockpit with the cargo hold. Stashing the construction gear under the seat, Moss stuck his rifle into the specially designed weapons rack next to the seat and sat down. Poblede quickly claimed the seat next to him, while Norén and Griffin sat across from them. Sitting in the seat closest to the exit was Lancelot, as expected.

The squad finished securing themselves as the ramp sealed shut. The Pelican began to hum as the engines were activated, and they waited for launch. And waited. And waited. And then waited some more.

The minutes ticked by with no movement from the Pelican and Moss began to get really nervous. Had something happened to the Pelican? He looked around, as if he could spot what the issue was and noticed his squad was doing the same thing. Eventually, Lancelot had enough.

"Senior Airman!" he suddenly called out, causing Moss to jump. "What the hell is going on? What are we waiting for?"

"A squadron of Seraphs broke through our fighter screen sir," Kasich replied. "A couple Navy frigates intercepted them, but the fighting is blocking our path to the planet. Control tower is working to reroute us."

"You know, if you connect your headsets to the Pelican intercom system, you'll be able to hear the pilots talking," she added.

Moss proceeded to do just that, and soon the pilots' voices were filtering through his headset.

" _Roger dodger control,"_ the pilot was saying. _"Uh, crew chief, we're about thirty seconds from launch. We've got our new route and uh, looks like it's going to be a bumpy one. Make sure all cargo is secure back there."_

" _Copy sir, we're all set back here,"_ Kasich replied.

" _Alrightly then. We're at T minus fifteen seconds."_

" _Hanger doors are opening,"_ the co-pilot calmly reported.

Moss could feel some slight vibrations through his metal seat as the doors opened. He reflexively looked down, as if he could see through the Pelican floor, through the now open hanger doors, and see Actium floating in a sea of blackness below him. Closing his eyes, Moss took a deep, shuttering breath, and released it slowly, trying to remain calm as butterflies flooded his stomach. He always hated this next part. Someone grabbed his hand and he looked up to see it was Poblede. She tightly gripped his hand and shot him a reassuring smile, one which Moss tried to return, but it felt like his face was frozen stiff. He instead tried to focus solely on the words inside his headset.

" _Docking clamps are releasing in three, two, one, launch. 'Off we go into the wild blue yonder(4)!'"_

Moss reflexively tensed up as the Pelican fell straight down, out of the hanger bay. Through the cockpit window, he could see the spacecraft clearing the hanger bay doors and make it a few dozen meters past the _Young_. He felt his stomach churn and bile filled his mouth as the pilots abruptly executed a barrel roll and punched in the afterburners, the sudden acceleration shoving him sideways against his harness. Actium, in all her glory, quickly fill the cockpit window, but Moss wasn't able to appreciate it as he felt sick to his stomach, dizzy, disoriented, and close to panicking as his brain was absolutely convinced he was upside down. The more rational part of his mind tried to convince him that he was in space, so there was no up and down, but that didn't seem to help. Nothing seemed to, until his brain helpfully pointed out that it was impossible for him to be upside down because he was falling down towards the planet, which meant the planet was down. And just like that, for whatever reason, Moss found he was able to breathe again.

Suddenly calm again, Moss released Poblede's hand and awkwardly gave her a reassuring smile before turning his attention back to what the pilots were saying.

" _Come about thirteen degrees to the left, Jaddi, get us into formation."_

" _Copy. Thirteen degrees. Hey Lucky, do you always have to sing that song every time we launch?"_

" _What? What's wrong with the song? It's a classic!"_

" _The song, sure. Your voice? Eh, not so much."_

" _Oh thanks. You know, just for that Jaddi, I just might sing the entire way down."_

" _Please don't,"_ Kasich interjected. _"I got in so much trouble with the squadron commander last time you did that because I had my ears off."_

" _And we wouldn't want that, now would we?"_ Lucky sarcastically replied. _"Hang on. This is Achilles two-five, we copy all traffic, over."_

" _God dammit, what are we waiting for? Skies are clear, let's go."_

" _We're waiting for our fighter escort. Swabbies(5); always got to be fashionable late."_

" _Hey, I got them. Up high, two o'clock. Longswords."_

" _Yeah, I see them. Let's get this show on the road. Hey Jaddi, make sure you keep to this flight plan to a T. We're going to be flying through that debris field. Lots of places for an ambush, not a lot of maneuvering room."_

The pilot's voice was calm, but Moss still managed to pick up a hint of tension in the man's voice. As they approached the debris field, Moss glanced out the cockpit window and he quickly realized why: it wasn't just any debris field they were passing through, but the ruins of several UNSC ships destroyed by the Covenant a couple hours earlier. The dull gray hulls of dead ships quickly filled the window as the Pelican drew near.

Upon entering the debris field, hull impacts began echoing through the Pelican sounding very much like hail hitting the roof of a car; pieces of debris smaller than Moss' finger hitting the side of the Pelican at the same speeds they had been initially launched. Fortunately, the hull was armored to withstand these impacts so Moss wasn't worried. What did concern him were the large pieces, some of which were larger than the Pelican itself. The good thing about them though, they were large enough to be spotted from a distance, meaning the pilots were able to dodge them quite easily. Still, the amount of debris was staggering.

" _Christ,"_ Moss heard Jaddi whisper. _"How many ships did we lose?"_

" _Too many,"_ was Lucky's reply. _"Always too many."_

" _All this, and we only managed to take out a battlecruiser and a handful of support ships? Doesn't seem right."_

" _No kidding."_

They continued to coast through the debris field. No ambush materialized, but the knowledge they were flying through what essentially was a graveyard kept everyone on edge.

Just as they were about to clear the field, a large chunk of a ship floated by and Moss noticed some writing on the side. He wasn't the only one.

" _Hang on, did you catch that hull number?"_ Lucky frantically said.

" _I think it said CVAF-131."_

" _Shit, that was the UNSC_ Trenchard _, one of the Air Force's newest fleet carriers! I didn't know she was stationed here! My roommate from the academy was an ordinance officer aboard her. God, I hope he made off safely before she was destroyed."_

" _Me too."_

They flew passed the debris and into open space.

" _Alright crew, we just cleared the debris field."_

" _Thank god,"_ Jaddi interjected.

" _Amen to that. Anyway, it's a straight run to the planet from here on out. ETA will probably... oh shit! Rear scopes just lit up like a fucking Christmas tree! Banshees, closing in on our six!"_

Moss felt his breath catch in his throat. Oh no…

" _I see them! Passing through grid three alpha right now, seventeen thousand meters and closing fast! What do we do Lucky?"_

" _Longswords will deal with them. Just, let's just hurry up and dump these guys on the LZ so we can get the fuck out of here."_

" _Copy. Longswords breaking away. Forty-five seconds until they reach maximum contact range. Thirty seconds. Fifteen... no wait, Longswords just opened up! I count six, no seven Banshees hit!"_

" _Jaddi, I don't need a fucking play by play! Focus on flying this bird!"_

" _Copy that LT! Uh, crew, we're passing through the upper atmosphere now!"_

Moss gripped his safety harness and closed his eyes. He always hated this next part.

The Pelican began to rattle and groan as it began descending through Actium's atmosphere. The air conditioning abruptly kicked in as the Pelican's environmental systems attempted to compensate for the increased temperatures within the cargo bay. Outside, the cockpit window was awashed in flames, and Moss could just picture the gray armor of the Pelican turning white as friction from the descent caused it to heat up. Moss could only hope the battle damage from earlier hadn't compromised the heat shield, and he swallowed nervously at the thought. Then the co-pilot said something that made Moss' heart freeze.

" _Uh-oh."_

" _God dammit Jaddi, those are not words I want to hear right now! What is it?"_

" _Three Banshees have broken through the fighter screen! Ten thousand meters and closing!"_

" _Fuck! Okay, put the pedal to the medal. Give me full forward thrust!"_

" _Our hull isn't rated for an atmospheric entry at those speeds! Any faster and this ship could shake itself apart!"_

" _And if we don't, we get shot out of the sky! Have you seen what happens to a human body when it falls through the sky at terminal velocity? Because I have and it ain't pretty! Just do it Jaddi!"_

The Pelican began violently vibrating and temperatures inside the cargo hold started to soar as the environmental systems failed to compensate for the increased heat. Moss risked opening his eyes and looking around at his squad. Poblede's eyes were sealed, but her lips were moving, as if she was praying. Across from them, Norén's face was inscrutable as ever, but Moss noticed her knuckles were turning white from how tightly she was gripping her seat, and the amount of sweat covering her face. Roer had gone completely pale and looked about ready to puke, or have a heart attack, or both. In stark contrast to everybody else, Griffin looked as if he was having the time of his life, cackling like a madman every time the Pelican let out a particularly violent rattle.

There was a massive shrieking of metal from outside and for a split second, Moss was convinced it was all over, that the hull had failed and he was dead. Then the moment passed and he realized the Pelican was still flying with no structural damage. But not everyone was so convinced.

"This bucket of bolts isn't going to hold(6)!" Roer screamed to no one in particular.

His shout was a bit too loud, as it turned out, because the pilot instantly yelled back, "Don't worry, she'll hold together!"

However, over his headset, Moss heard the pilot mutter, _"You hear me baby? Hold together."_

Abruptly the cockpit cleared, revealing a sprawling city below them. Even from this height, several kilometers high, Moss could see fire and explosions and smoke rising from the city limits. The Covenant attack was clearly underway.

" _Jaddi, give me a status update on those Banshees!"_ Lucky ordered.

" _Right! Uh, Banshees are... gone?"_

" _What do you mean gone? What, did they get shot down? Did they fall apart in atmosphere?"_

" _I'm not seeing any debris. And, none of the Longswords were in pursuit. It almost looks like they pulled away on their own accord."_

" _Why would they... oh shit, crew, prepare for evasive maneuvers!"_

Before the pilot could even finish his sentence, the Pelican abruptly lurched to the left, throwing Moss hard against his restraints, as something exploded just outside the hull. The explosion was so close, Moss could almost feel the shockwave from inside the Pelican. Before the first one had even subsided, the Pelican was rocked by another two detonation nearby. The Pelican began bobbing up and down, as if a boat sailing down a river, as it rocked by one explosion after another. Underneath the blasts, Moss detected a tapping sound on the hull and he quickly realized it was shrapnel from the flak hitting the hull.

" _Jaddi, where the fuck is this flak coming from?"_

" _I have no idea! I think the Covies are scrambling our sensors because there is no way these scopes can be right! There weren't this many flak batteries an hour ago!"_

" _No, sensors are good. Where the fuck did these things come from? How fucking far are we from the LZ?"_

" _We're two klicks out!"_

" _Holy shit, there are this many flak batteries this close to the LZ? What the hell is LZ X-Ray doing, letting the Covenant set up that close?"_

Abruptly, as if someone had heard Lucky's question, Moss heard a call go over the radio, so loudly and clearly, Moss could hear it through the open cockpit door.

" _This is LZ X-Ray, all units, Silver Dawn. I say again, Silver Dawn."_

Moss started. Silver Dawn was the current UNSC military phrase used for when a unit was about to get overrun, and thus wanted all available ordinance to be expended on their position. The situation was made worse when Moss remembered LZ X-Ray was the landing zone he and his squad were supposed to land on. He wasn't the only one to notice.

"LZ X-Ray? Isn't that the LZ we're supposed to go to?" Poblede exclaimed.

"Not anymore I guess!" Griffin brightly replied.

Moss was more concerned about what the pilots were saying.

" _Our LZ is scrapped? Where are we supposed to go now?"_

" _Secondary landing zone, LZ Yankee! Divert to heading two one alpha. Get us some altitude, we're way too low! And hurry the fuck up, we've been up in the air for far too long. Those AA Wraiths are probably going to zero in on us any second now!"_

Without warning, Moss felt a tingling sensation pass over his body, as if he just walked through an electrical field, and then every single electronic device connected to the Pelican shut down.

Including the engines.

For a precious moment, time seemed to stand still. Then, the Pelican began plummeting out of the sky. And that's when the screaming started.

"EMP!" Lucky screamed from within the cockpit. "All four engines are offline, controls are non-responsive!"

"We're losing altitude! Lucky, try to glide us down!"

"We're a spaceship, not a fucking airplane! Our wings don't have nearly enough surface area to accomplish that! Switch over to secondary systems and see if you can't restart the engines!"

Moss could see Jaddi reaching up to a panel of switches overhead but before he could pull them, a near miss caused the Pelican to flip. With no engines to correct it, the Pelican entered into a spin. Moss was slammed against his chair as the floor became the ceiling then became the floor again and then became the ceiling once more. He watched, helpless, as the co-pilot desperately reached for the top panel controls, fighting against centrifugal force and losing. Looking through the cockpit window, Moss watched as the city of Byzas grew larger and larger until it took up the entire frame.

Then it hit him.

Halfway through the Newsaka campaign, Moss had come to the realization the chances of him seeing his next birthday were slim to none. It had taken him a few days to accept that realization, but once he did, he spent many a sleepless night wondering just how he was going to kick it and, more importantly, how he would react. Now that his time had come, Moss was startled to feel a sense of... serenity, wash over him. Here he was, stuck inside a crippled Pelican, moments away from slamming into the ground at terminal velocity, without having a chance to have at least engaged the enemy, and Moss had never felt more at peace. This was it. This was how his story ended. There would be no more pain, no more struggling. He had given it his all and now it was over.

As the Pelican began descending over the streets of Byzas, passing between skyscrapers and other building complexes, the only regret Moss had was that he wasn't able to see his parents one last time. But as he thought back to the message he had left back on the _Young_ for his parents, he was glad to have at least gotten the chance to say goodbye.

Then the pilot abruptly reached up and pulled the switches.

Instantly Moss was bombarded with a cacophony of beeps and alarms from the cockpit as power was restored. A loud hum filled the air as the engines restarted, and the Pelican jerked as the pilots leveled out the plane. The sudden motion caused Moss' head to snap back, smacking against the bulkhead and snapping Moss out of his reverie. He watched as the pilots struggled to halt the Pelican's downward descent.

" _Warning, altitude low, pull up. Warning, altitude low, pull up,"_ a mechanical voice chanted from inside the cockpit.

"I know you stupid computer, I'm trying! Shut up!" Lucky screamed. "Jaddi, extend all flaps, slow us down!"

The Pelican continued to rocket through the city, their trajectory put them in a collision course with a parking garage. Lucky yanked back on his control yoke and the Pelican start to rise, but not fast enough. With a sinking sense of horror, Moss realized their little reprieve on life was just that: a reprieve. There was only one thing left to do.

"BRACE FOR IMPACT!"

The Pelican slammed into the outer wall of the garage, the concrete parapet doing little to stop the twenty tonne aerocraft moving at top speed. Moss bounced in his seat as they plowed into several parked cars, cutting right through them like butter. A loud scrapping noise, like nails on a chalkboard, filled the air as the Pelican scrapped against the pavement and concrete ceiling, the garage level just barely tall enough to accommodate the height of the Pelican. Moss could feel the Pelican slowing down due to the friction, but the Pelican still had enough momentum to travel the full length of the parking level before slamming into the parked cars on the other side. Caught between the heavy Pelican and the parapet wall, the cars crumpled like accordions, but the impact was enough to finally halt the Pelican's forward movement. The Pelican let out a final, weak groan, before finally settling.

Inside, there was complete silence. For his part, Moss was too busy marveling at the fact he was somehow still breathing.

The silence was shattered when Griffin unexpectedly released his safety harness, letting the straps drop to the ground with a clatter.

"Well, that was fun," he announced. "Now what?"

The spell broken, the rest of the squad followed suit.

"Squad, sound off!" Lancelot yelled from the rear, sounding hoarse.

"Westley."

"Roer."

"Poblede."

"Norén."

"Moss!" Moss called out, fumbling to undo his safety restraints. He found his hands were shaking too much for him to do that so he pulled out his knife to cut them off instead.

"I'm going to check on the pilots," Kasich announced.

She leapt out from her seat at the back of the Pelican and dashed to the front. As Moss cleared the straps off his shoulders, he saw Kasich poking her head into the cockpit. He heard her fumbling around before announcing, "Both pilots are alive! I think they're just temporarily knocked out. If we could..."

 _CRACK!_

A single purple needle lanced through the Pelican windshield, spearing Kasich right through the abdomen. She dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

"Contact! Cover!" Moss screaming, clearing his seat and pressing his back against the cockpit doorway as much as he possibly could.

"Shit! Can't we get a fucking break?" Roer demanded to know.

Very slowly, Moss peaked his head around the corner, exposing only his right eye. There, crouched in the building directly across the street, was a single Jackal sniper with a needle rifle, the red-pink glow of the ocular enhancement helmet the alien was wearing standing in stark contrast to the beige walls of the room he was in. Moss watched as the Jackal raise the rifle and Moss quickly ducked back into cover.

 _CRACK_!

Another purple needle lanced through the window, shattering against the doorframe.

"Contact, direct twelve, building across the street. Single Jackal sniper. About a hundred twenty meters out." Moss hefted his rifle and glanced at Norén. "Norén, on the count of three, you and I will break cover and engage. Hopefully the two of us emerging at the same time will confuse him long enough for one of us to take him out. Ready?"

"Hang on," Norén interrupted. "Can our rifles even penetrate the Pelican window?"

Moss hesitated. He hadn't thought about that. He knew Pelican windows were designed to be armored against and up to 12.7mm armored piercing rounds, but clearly superheated blamite projectiles could penetrate. Though, that might have been because the window had weakened due to all the recent stress it had been under. But had it weakened enough for a 7.62mm full metal jacket round to penetrate? Moss had no idea.

"Well, we're about to find out," he finally said.

Norén frowned, but didn't comment. Moss readied his rifle.

"Three, two, one, execute!"

Both Moss and Norén whirled around the doorframe, raising their weapons. But before either of them could fire, Lucky sat upright in his seat and grabbed the control stick between his legs. He slammed his thumb down on a button and immediately a single Anvil-II missile fired from pod underneath the Pelican's right wing stub. The missile flew across the street and slammed into the room the Jackal was in, detonating and completely obliterating the side of the building.

"I've got a bigger gun than you do," Lucky groggily announced as the face of the building went crashing down to the road below, though whether Lucky was talking to the Jackal or Moss and Norén, Moss wasn't sure.

"Medic!" Moss called, dropping to the ground next to Kasich. He carefully removed her helmet to check her status. Kasich was still alive and conscious, though very clearly in pain.

"Oh god," she gasped.

Westley came running up and Moss moved aside to give her some room to work. He backed into the cockpit where Jaddi was flicking some switchs and yelling into the radio.

"Mayday, mayday, mayday," he was saying. "This is Achilles two-five. We have been shot down and have crash landed in, god, I don't know. Any UNSC call signs picking up on this transmission, please, help!"

"Save your breath Lieutenant," Lancelot called out from the back of the Pelican. "Birds are going down all over the city, and no one here is important enough for Command to bother sending a CSAR team to pick us up."

"Then what the heck do we do now?" Jaddi demanded.

"First, calm the fuck down," Lancelot ordered, entering the cockpit. Moss scooted aside to give him some room. It was getting crowded in there. "We need to figure out where the fuck we are. We still got satellite imagery? And does the blue force tracker still work?" he asked Lucky.

"Yes sir."

"Fire it up, let's see where the hell we are."

Moss waited patiently as Lancelot studied the holographic display.

"Well, we've crashed right into no-man's land," Lancelot finally said with a scoff. "Dammit. UNSC main line of resistance is four blocks in that direction, Covie vanguard two blocks in the direct opposite. We might be able to make to friendly positions before the Covenant arrive, but we need to move out, now. Westley!"

"Sir?"

"How much longer before you can get the wounded ready to move?"

"Five minutes sir."

"Bullshit. Nothing takes five minutes(7)," Lancelot snapped. He turned back to the pilot. "Do you know any of the frequencies for the local fire support units? And or, authorization codes?"

Lucky shook his head. "No. Only channels we have are to the _Young_ control tower and the air controllers for the landing zones."

"Guess we're going to have fight off the entire Covenant vanguard without fire support. Fuck." Lancelot took a moment to rub his face before he began barking out orders.

"Lieutenants Felix and Dotse, wipe all navigation data, destroy the radios, and arm yourselves. We're abandoning the Pelican. Then I want you to assist Doc Westley in prepping the wounded for immediate transport."

"Yes sir."

"2nd Squad, ditch the construction gear and scavenge all the ammunition you can find. We're setting up a defensive perimeter. We're going to hold the Covenant back until Westley is ready to move, then we double time it friendly positions. Check your weapons and get ready."

Moss immediately dumped the empty sandbags and concertina wire to the ground before reaching up and removing his entrenching tool from his backpack, gratefully tossing it to the top of the pile. That was at least one less thing he had to carry.

"Well," Poblede mutely said to him under her breath. "We're not off to a good start."

"No kidding," Moss agreed. "The good news is, I've come to a realization."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"I fucking hate flying," Moss declared.

"Hey Sergeant? Could you reach into the compartment over your head? There should be two MA37 assault rifles and a couple of magazines in there," Lucky requested.

Moss did as he asked, pulling the weapons out and handing them over.

"There's a stretcher over your head," Lucky informed them, gesturing at Norén. "And Kasich's DMR should be in the rack next to her seat."

Lancelot pulled out the M392 designated marksman rifle and a pouch of magazines. He immediately handed it over to Poblede.

"I've seen all your range scores," he declared. "Corporal, you've got the highest among everyone here. Take it."

Attaching her grenade launcher to her back, Poblede took the offered firearm and ammo and began checking it over. In the meantime, Moss had made his way to the back, and was now studying the ramp mounted machine gun. It was a standard crew-served M247 general purpose machine gun, but unusually, it was equipped with a stock and pistol grip, instead of the spade grips normally found on these types of weapons.

"Sir, you think we should take the Gimpy?" Moss asked.

Lancelot walked over to him. "Sure, we could use the firepower. Just find someone to carry it and operate it."

"Roer," Moss immediately said. "You're the biggest one here. You should be able to handle it without too many problems. Dump your rifle, you're not going to need it, and give Griffin your ammo."

Moss pulled down the machine gun and removed the pins holding the weapon to its mount. He pulled several lengths of ammo from the drum machine before handing them over to Norén.

"Norén, aside from the LT, you've probably got the most experience operating these things," Moss reported. "You're Roer's assistant gunner."

Norén nodded and took the offered belts of ammo without complaint.

"Ready?" Lancelot asked. Moss nodded.

"2nd Squad, weapons up. We don't know what's waiting for us out there." Lancelot brought his rifle up to his shoulder. "Sergeant Shen, popped the ramp."

Moss nodded and reached for the ramp controls. Throwing one last look at his squad to make sure they were ready, Moss punched the ramp release button and brought his rifle to bear.

With a hiss, the ramp lowered to reveal: nothing. Aside from destroyed and damaged cars, there was no one waiting for them, dead or alive.

"Move out, check both sides of the Pelican," Lancelot ordered, and then started down the ramp. Moss followed him.

The first thing Moss noticed was the cold. Especially in sharp contrast to the sauna the cargo bay of the Pelican had become, Actium was freezing. His breath came out in large plumes of steams, and he could feel the sweat on his face evaporating away. Barely a couple of seconds out of the Pelican, and Moss could already feel the cold seeping right through all the layers of clothing he had on. He started shivering, and was almost tempted to walk right back into the Pelican, but he forced himself to focus.

The next thing Moss took note of was the noise. A cacophony of noise filled his ears: the roar of jet engines followed by the scream of Banshees ripped through the air, though fortunately nowhere near their position. There was the rippling of anti-aircraft fire, the thumping of artillery, the sharp popping noise of machine gun fire, and the booming of distant explosions. Alien noises also bombarded his ears: the whine of hovercraft engines, the whoosh of distant plasma mortars, and the high pitch cackling of plasma fire. Underneath everything was the general crackling of things as they burned.

And then there was the smell. The wind shifted in their direction and with it came a conglomeration of smells: the tangy smell of blood, the acrid scent of ash, the stinging odor of smoke, the ozone of plasma discharge, the biting smell of gunpowder, the aroma of spent fuel, and most of all, the sweet scent of death that blanketed all battlefields. Moss' stomach, not yet fully settled after their chaotic entry, turned over again and he fought to keep the bile in.

"Stay focused squad!" Lancelot snapped and Moss realized the squad had completely stopped at the top of the ramp.

Shaking himself off, Moss hefted his rifle and glanced around the corner of the Pelican. He didn't see anyone, living or dead, human or otherwise. He couldn't decide if that was a good or bad thing.

"Left side clear," Moss said.

"Right clear!" Norén called out.

"Floor clear! Aerial imagery shows Covenant advancing from the southeast," Lancelot said, staring at his TACPAD. "Means they'll be coming from this direction." He gestured in the direction the left side of the Pelican was facing. "Set up behind the parapet. Lieutenant Felix, Lieutenant Dotse, stay with the Pelican and watch our six."

Moss jogged over to the barrier wall, the belts of ammo on his shoulders jingling with every step he took and slid into cover behind the wall and in between two parked cars.

"Sergeant, make sure no one is below us," Lancelot ordered and Moss quickly stood up and looked over the barrier wall for any movement below. There wasn't any, and, mindful of more snipers, Moss quickly ducked back down. He relocated a couple of meters to his left, to hopefully confuse any potential observers, before rising back up to get an idea of the lay of the land.

The garage was located on the northwest corner of an intersection between a large main road, and a smaller secondary road. The side of the garage Moss and his squad were occupying was overlooking an open parking lot directly to their east. The parking lot was maybe two hundred meters wide and occupied with about a hundred cars, most of which were buried under about half a meter worth of snow. Bracketing the parking lot on the left was a small, one-story building. To the right of the parking lot was the main road running parallel to the garage. The road was six lanes wide, but between the abandoned cars, debris, and snow banks, it had been reduced to two or three lanes. Across the main road were a series of small buildings, all of which were only about one or two stories high except the building directly diagonal from the garage where the Jackal sniper had been hiding, which was a seven story office complex. Dividing the garage and the parking lot was a small secondary road, about three lanes wide.

"Listen up."

Moss half turned so he could listen to Lancelot's orders, while at the same time keep an eye out for enemy movement down below.

"Covenant are probably going to use the road to push their armor, so I want all support weapons covering the road. Specialist Roer, take cover behind that column, should give you a perfect field of fire. Corporal Poblede, take your grenade launcher and set up about half a meter behind the wall, to try and conceal your muzzle flash. Unfortunately, you've got the only weapon that can potential disable enemy vehicles."

"What about our mines sir?" Moss asked.

Lancelot shook his head. "We don't have enough time to run down five flights of stairs, set them up, conceal them, and then run back into position. No, the grenade launcher is the only AT weapon we've got so don't die Corporal."

"Wasn't planning on it sir," Poblede noted.

"As soon as we open fire, Covenant are going to start pushing infantry off both sides of the road. They'll try to get a squad into that office complex as it's the only building high enough for them to get an angle on us. Norén and I will cover that side. They'll also push a squad to the left, cut across the parking lot to assault the garage directly. Cars will give them cover but we've got the height advantage, plus that heavy snow will slow them down. Sergeant Shen and Private Griffin will cover that angle. As soon as the Stretcher Team is ready, they'll retreat through the back of the garage while we cover. Once they're clear, we'll follow."

Norén raised her hand.

"Sir, are we going to have enough time to clear five flights of stairs before the Covenant make it inside?"

"Probably not," Lancelot admitted. "Which is why we're not going to take the stairs. I've got some rope," he announced, taking out a couple of bundles from his bag and distributing it around. "We'll set it up and fast rope out of the garage. We'll fall back in two teams. Norén, Roer, and I will be Alpha Team. Sergeant Shen, Corporal Poblede and Griffin will be Bravo Team. Once on the ground, the Stretcher Team will book it the entire four blocks to the MLR, while we cover their retreat with a reverse bounding overwatch. Understood?"

Everybody nodded.

"Questions?"

"Are we going to destroy the Pelican before we leave sir?" Norén asked.

"No. Why bother wasting explosives when the Covenant will do that for us? All tactical data has been erased and the Covenant have never used captured human equipment. Don't see why that would change now. Anything else? Standby then."

Moss took his position overlooking the parking lot. He removed a couple of magazines from his belt and placed them on top of the barrier underneath the railing so he wouldn't be fumbling around when he needed to reload. Then, just out of nervous habit, Moss ejected his magazine and brass checked his rifle to make both were loaded. They were, so he relaxed.

Weapons ready, Moss peeked over the wall to search for enemy movement, but abruptly realized his spot in the garage give him a pretty good view of the city. He hadn't had a chance to see in detail what conditions were currently like on the Pelican, due to it crashing, but he had that opportunity now. What he saw wasn't encouraging. Shattered skyscrapers sat on the horizon, filled with so many holes they reminded him of maggot infested corpses. The skies were overcast, blocking much of the sunlight, but it hardly mattered as smoke was rising from just about everything Moss laid his eyes on, causing a dull gray haze to blanket the city. Multi-colored lights, neon-green and blue from Covenant plasma weaponry and red-orange from UNSC tracer rounds, crisscrossed the skies and the streets in the distance, though fortunately none of which were aimed in his direction. The sight was a bit overwhelming, and Moss had to slap himself to make himself focus on the task at hand. Then he heard it. The dull whine of a Covenant anti-gravity engine.

Bring his rifle up to his eye line, Moss scanned the street. There, three blocks down, Moss could see a column of Covenant vehicles approaching their position. By the looks of it, it was at least two Type-32 vehicles, better known by their UNSC reporting name of "Ghost," escorting three Type-29 "Shadow" transport vehicles.

"Here they come," Moss muttered to himself, removing the safety from his rifle.

"Hold fire until I give the order," Lancelot barked. "Corporal, you'll take out the first Ghost, stop the convoy. Don't fucking miss."

"Everybody keeps fucking telling me that, as if I would miss on purpose," Moss heard Poblede complain, and he couldn't help but crack a smile.

"Specialist, take out the second Ghost and then shift fire onto the infantry as they dismount from the Shadows. The rest of us will target the gunners on the lead Shadows. Norén, you and I will eliminate the lead gunner. Sergeant Shen and Private Griffin will take out the second. Standby."

Propping his rifle against the top of the railing, Moss took a deep breath and released it slowly before taking careful aim at his target, a Grunt Minor manning the heavy plasma turret on the roof of the second Shadow in the convoy. The Grunt's dull orange armor made him stand out in contrast to the purple hull of the Shadow, making him really easy to track. Moss watched as the Grunt swivel the turret from left to right, covering a full one hundred eighty degree arch in front of the convoy, but never deviating from a horizontal plane. Moss could help but be amused; he had noticed that people, even among aliens it seemed, never looked up as much as they should.

They waited until the convoy had traveled another block.

"Stand by," Lancelot announced and Moss reflexively tensed. "Corporal, FIRE!"

 _BLOOP!_

Moss watched as the grenade sped down the street, landing just under the lead Ghost's right stabilization fin and exploding, throwing the Elite driver from his seat into a nearby snow bank as the Ghost flipped. A split second later, Roer's machine gun roared to life as he fired a 100-round burst into the second Ghost in the convoy. The Elite driver jerked as he was hit over two dozen times and sparks flew from the Ghost as the armored piercing machine gun bullets ripped through its thin armor. The Ghost quickly spun out of control and went crashing into a nearby pile of debris.

The convoy of Shadows came to a screeching halt, giving Moss stationary target. He fired at the same time as Griffin did, and the Grunt slumped in his seat. He then shifted targets, aiming at the driver of the Ghost Poblede had taken out. The Elite Minor was just picking himself off the ground when Moss' first shots hit. A glowing yellow shield lit up around the Elite, deflecting the first three rounds before collapsing: clearly the Elite had taken some damage from being thrown into a snow bank at top speeds. The Elite snapped his plasma rifle and returned fire as he dove for cover behind his overturned Ghost. The return fire was high and to the left, so Moss ignored it and instead planted another two shots into the Elite's head. The impact knocked the Elite to the ground, but didn't kill him as Moss could see him crawling into the shadow of the Ghost, so Moss open fired on the Ghost's exposed plasma containment vessel. It took about half a magazine before the container was breeched, and the Ghost detonated in a bright blue flash, taking the Elite with it.

Now it was the Covenant's turn to respond. From the corner of his eye, Moss saw a flash and reflexively ducked. A bolt from a heavy plasma emplacement slammed into the parapet one floor above them and exploded, throwing concrete shards in all directions. Moss glanced over the wall to see the two gunner-less Shadows pulling back while the third Shadow pushed forward, providing covering fire. Plasma bolts began homing in on their location and Moss started to feel sweat pouring out of every pore as temperatures skyrocketed. Underneath the barrage, Moss noticed the two retreated Shadows had opened both their cargo bays doors and were disgorging a ton of infantry.

"Sir, we've got dismounts!" Moss called out in warning.

" _Norén, Griffin, push out on the wings and draw that turret's fire. As soon he's distracted, Corporal take him out! Everybody else, target the dismounts!"_ Lancelot barked.

Moss promptly stood up to fire on the deploying infantry, not an easy task as several Jackals had disembarked and activated their arm shields, providing some cover for the infantry crossing the road. Still, there were gaps, and Moss managed to hit a crossing Grunt in the back of the methane tank all Grunts wore for whatever reason, puncturing it. The high pressured gas began squirting out of the bullet hole like a jet pack, throwing the Grunt into a comical spin, before he actually flew into one of the Jackals, knocking them both to the ground. Moss was quick to finish them off before either of them could recover.

The downed Jackal left a hole in the shield wall, one that Roer quickly exploited. He fired a long burst at the exposed infantry, cutting a number of them down. Moss watched Roer's tracer rounds streak through the air before rising up, adding his fire to Roer's.

 _CRACK!_

Moss jerked and stumbled backwards as something skimmed the side of his helmet. He could feel his face burning, like he had just received a nasty sunburn, and he reached up to feel that something had left a melted groove down the side of his helmet.

"Hey Sarge, you alright?" Griffin called out.

"Yeah!" Moss called back. He stood up and traced the shot back to its source, a single Grunt taking cover behind one of the Shadows, laying down cover fire. Moss took a couple of potshots at him and the Grunt disappeared, but Moss was sure he hadn't actually hit him.

"Well, keep your head down, we're taking a lot of fire!" Griffin announced, somehow sounding sincere.

"No shit!" Moss yelled, ducking as a hail of plasma fire impacted the concrete barrier. One of the plasma bolts slammed into the light right above his head, causing it to explode and throw sparks in all directions. Moss grabbed his mags and quickly relocated, taking a few steps to the side.

" _They're pushing the flanks!"_ Lancelot suddenly warned. _"Cover your sectors!"_

"Griffin, shift fire left!" Moss ordered. He looked up to see a squad's worth of infantry pushing into the parking lot. The cars parked there gave them pretty good cover, but they first had to force their way through the thick snow before they could reach it, giving Moss and Griffin a chance to eliminate as many of them as possible. Moss had just shot one of the Grunts in the chest when he felt the bolt on his rifle lock back and the digital ammo counter flash red. He was out of ammo.

"Reloading!" Moss warned, ducking back down.

He ripped out the empty magazine, letting it clatter to the ground, and slammed a fresh one in.

"INCOMING!" Griffin hollered.

Moss curled into a ball as he heard the retort of a concussion rifle, before the barrier wall he had been crouched behind mere seconds ago exploded outwards. Moss quickly covered his face with his arms as concrete, rebar, and aluminum railing was sent scattering across the floor.

Recovering his rifle, Moss poked his head through the newly formed hole and located the Elite with the concussion rifle. He open fired on him, causing the Elite's shield to light up. The Elite rolled into cover behind a nearby car and Moss started to track him, but then a barrage of green plasma peppered Moss' firing hole. Moss rolled back into cover and waited for the barrage to end but just as he was about to peek out, purple needles slammed into the concrete, forcing him to stay where he was least he get hit.

Sticking his rifle around the corner, Moss blindly fired a burst in the direction of the enemy to distract them, before scrambling up to his feet to try and take advantage of that distraction. For his troubles, Moss was almost taken out by a plasma pistol overcharge, which only missed him when he accidently slipped on the brass casing that littered the floor. His brush with death wasn't completely without benefit, as in that brief moment, Moss noticed the Covenant were beginning to cross over the street and into the ground floor of the parking garage. Pulling out his frag grenades, Moss tossed them over the edge of the barrier wall, then followed it up with one of his white phosphorus grenades in an attempt to slow them down.

" _Stretcher Team is pulling out!"_ Lancelot announced, and Moss let out a sigh of relief. No one had been hit yet, but it was only a matter of time. _"We give them five minutes, then we get the fuck out!"_

"HUNTERS!" Poblede suddenly screamed.

Moss felt his blood run cold and throwing all caution to the wind, glanced over the barrier wall. Sure enough, a pair of Covenant Hunters were making their way down the main road, the massive blue armored aliens reminding Moss of the dragons found on Newsaka only ten times bigger and more deadly, running through or bashing away all obstacles in their path. From three blocks away, the Hunter open fired with their plasma cannons.

 _BADOSHHHH!_

Twin incendiary gel streams came streaking in. They slammed into the garage, causing the entire structure to shake. The blast had completely missed the floor Moss and his squad were taking cover on, most likely because the Hunters hadn't bother to stop charging before they fired, but it was close enough. And the Hunters' aim would only improve as they drew closer; a terrifying prospect as the squad didn't have nearly the amount of firepower needed to kill Hunters.

" _New plan!"_ Lancelot yelled. _"We're falling back now! All teams, retreat!"_

Moss scrambled to his feet and dashed for the rear of the garage, even as the building shook from the impact of another two streams of incendiary gel. Reaching the back, Moss dug out the bundle of rope Lancelot gave him and quickly secured it to the railing on top of the barrier wall.

"Stretcher Team, I hope you're on the ground already because we're about to get hit with Hunters. 2nd Squad is falling back, you have no covering fire, I say again, you have no cover," Lancelot blurted into the radio as he gestured for Moss and his team to descend first.

" _We're clear!"_ Westley announced as Moss grabbed the rope and began sliding down it like it was a fireman's pole, the palms of his gloves rapidly heating up from the friction. _"Power was still working so we took the elevator down instead!"_

Moss hit the ground and cleared himself from the rope. Movement caught his eye and Moss swore as he saw Covenant soldiers making their way through the ground floor of the garage.

"Covenant on the ground floor!" Moss warned, bring his rifle to bear. He open fired, his first shots missing the Jackal he was aiming at and instead shattering a car window, setting off the car alarm and alerting all aliens of their position.

The Covenant squad scattered for cover and Moss fired as quickly as possible, trying to retain the initiative. He fired at a Jackal crouched behind a box truck, his high powered rifle bullets easily cutting right through the trucks aluminum frame and forcing the Jackal into the open where Griffin finished him off. He noticed a Grunt priming a plasma grenade so Moss shot him in the arm, forcing the Grunt to inadvertently drop it. There was a blue flash and the Grunt, as well the car he was behind, was no more.

"Moss, I'm reloading but they're trying to outflank us on the right!" Poblede desperately called out.

Moss glanced over and caught sight of a trio of Skirmishers darting between cars on the far side of the garage.

"Griffin, I'm shifting right, cover!" Moss yelled, even as he opened up.

He wounded one of the Skirmishers, sending the other two scrambling for cover. Moss continued to fire at the tow truck they were hiding behind, hoping for a penetration kill, but they had taken cover behind the hood of the truck, the steel engine providing vastly more protection then the body would. Moss' rifle clicked empty and he drew his sidearm, as if that would help, but Poblede planted a grenade into the truck's hydrogen fuel cell which immediately ruptured and then exploded, turning the entire truck into a giant flaming wreak.

" _Bravo Team, fall back now!"_ Moss heard Lancelot yell at them from behind him, causing him to jump. He hadn't realized Alpha Team had already made it to the ground.

"Pip, Griffin, fall back!" Moss ordered. "Bravo bounding!" he howled as he tossed a smoke grenade at his feet.

They crossed the street into the next block, sprinting passed Alpha Team at top speeds, who promptly opened up, firing randomly into the smoke screen to discourage pursuit. Reaching the next block, Moss pushed his team behind a car that was half buried under debris and snow, and had them assume firing positions. Throwing himself on the ground behind one of the wheel wells, Moss reloaded.

"Bravo Team set!" Moss yelled.

"Alpha Team bounding!" Lancelot yelled back. He and the rest of the team sprinted down the right side of the street, leaving the left side clear for Moss and his team to engage.

"Hey, cover up!" Moss barked.

"Any UNSC call signs on this net, this Sledgehammer-1, we are heading north on L Street four blocks south of Romulus Augustus Circle. We have been engaged by multiple Covenant hostile. Any UNSC units, we are requesting immediate fire support," Lancelot rattled off as he sailed passed. "I have ten packs, one wounded. Anyone copy, over?"

" _This is Hoplite-3,"_ a stranger's voice sounded over the radio. _"We have eyes on. Keep your heads down, we're covering now!"_

Bright red-orange tracers began streaking overhead, down the street and cutting down any Covenant soldiers emerging from the smoke. Moss glanced back and traced the tracers to a large hotel on the far end of the traffic circle, four blocks down.

"Squad, to the traffic circle!" Lancelot ordered. "Move it!"

Moss scrambled to his feet, following on the heels of his squad as they sprinted down the street towards the circle. Heavy machine gun fire continued to pass over their heads, suppressing the Covenant and allowing 2nd Squad to run unhindered. They had made it another two blocks down the street when -

 _ **PSHHHPSHHHPSHHH!**_

Three rockets encased in green light shot down the street and slammed into the building most of the covering fire was coming from. Moss didn't think, he just reacted: he spun around and open fired towards the Covenant. He however froze when the crimson colored hull of an Anti-Air Wraith emerged from the smoke.

 _ **PSHHHPSHHHPSHHH!**_

The AA Wraith fired again, and another spread of fuel rod cannon's rocketing down the street and impacting the building Hoplite-3 was hold out in.

"Oh shit," Moss muttered as the Wraith's secondary plasma turret, manned by a single Covenant Grunt, swiveled towards them.

"MOVE! FIND COVER!" Lancelot's voice rang out, snapping Moss out of his reverie. But just as he began to clear the way, the Grunt open fired.

 _FWOOZFWOOZFWOOZ!_

The Grunt fired three bolts, one of which hit Griffin on the right side of his abdomen with a glancing blow. The plasma ignited a couple rifle magazines he had strapped there, which promptly exploded, throwing Griffin to the ground. Lancelot and Norén instantly grabbed him and dragged him to safety.

 _ **PSHHHPSHHHPSHHH!**_

Moss was barely paying attention though as he was having problems of his own. He scrambled to clear the street and find some cover, but he slipped on a random patch of ice in the middle of the road and landed on his ass. He immediately rolled to the side onto the sidewalk, even as a stream of plasma chewed up the asphalt beside him. Without any time to search, Moss threw himself behind the first available cover he could find, which turned out to be a series of recycling bins. Unfortunately, the bins quickly proved to be inadequate protection as plasma bolts instantly began punching right through the plastic. Moss curled into a ball, hugging the plastic bins, trying to make himself as small as a target as possible as plasma lanced through the air mere centimeters around him. He could hear someone screaming and it took a few moments to realize it was him.

 _ **PSHHHPSHHHPSHHH!**_

"PIP!" Moss screamed in desperation over the belch of plasma fire. "Pip, take out that fucking gunner!"

From the corner of his eye, Moss could just barely make out Poblede lean out from her hiding spot to fire a grenade at the turret but was immediately forced back down as the Grunt panned the cannon in her direction. Moss could see her sprinting out of the way moments before plasma fired obliterated the car she was using for cover.

Moss attempted to take advantage of the distraction to relocate to a better piece of cover, but a blue plasma bolt splashed against the sidewalk by his foot and he jerked back behind what remained of the recycling bins. He looked up as Covenant soldiers poured out from around the Wraith, emerging from the smoke and firing widely as they charged. From his position a bit further down the street, Roer fired an extended burst from his machine gun at them, cutting some of them down, but then he took a single plasma bolt directly to the chest and toppled over backwards, disappearing from Moss' sight.

 _ **PSHHHPSHHHPSHHH!**_

With nothing left to do, Moss stuck his rifle around the corner, blindly firing in the direction of the Covenant, hoping to hit something. His bolt locked back and Moss hastily started to reload. Ejecting the empty magazine, he pulled out a new one and slammed it home, and was about to chamber a round when he abruptly noticed the green laser shining over his head. It was barely visible to the naked eye, and Moss only noticed it because of the amount of dust in the air.

The sight was so unexpected, Moss literally stopped what he was doing just to figure out what the heck that laser was. As far as he could tell, the laser was originating from Hoplite-3's position, and pointed directly at the AA Wraith. Without thinking, Moss rolled out of cover to see what the laser was actually doing. Then he noticed the red holographic circle on the ground that surrounding the AA Wraith, and the red diamond surrounding a white exclamation point floating just above it.

"INCOMING!" Moss screamed.

Even if there had been complete silence on the street, there was no way Moss could have heard the bomb come flying in. The Mark 208 bomb used by the UNSC Air Force was entirely depended on gravity for propulsion, only using four tail-mounted fins to guide itself onto its target, making it a silent but deadly weapon. Moss liked to think he heard the howl of the jet engines of the Air Force B-65 "Shortsword" that dropped the bomb as it roared by overhead, but perhaps that was just his imagination. He definitely heard the shriek of metal as the bomb slammed directly into the hull of the AA Wraith, the hardened nose of the projectile easily punching its way through the Wraith's armor. Then he heard nothing at all as ninety kilograms worth of explosives packed inside the bomb detonated.

Moss and his squad were perhaps a hundred meters away from the explosion, which under normal circumstances, was well outside the blast radius of a Mark 208 bomb. Unfortunately, due to the buildings lining both sides of the street, the shockwave from the blast was confined and channeled through the path of least resistance: straight down the street. As such, Moss was sent tumbling across the ground as the overpressure wave ripped away what remained of his cover, the very oxygen being sucked out of his lungs, as he was hit by what felt like a thousand punches all across his body. The only things that prevent his internal organs from liquefying was the ballistic shock-absorbing layer of his armor, the distance from the actual explosion itself, and the fact the bomb had buried itself into its target, meaning the Wraith itself had absorbed most of the blast. The Covenant soldiers that had surrounded the Wraith had no such luck and were, needless to say, very dead.

Moss rolled over onto his stomach. He inhaled, then spat on the ground, trying to clear his mouth of dust. He felt something wet running down his face and reached his hand up to find his nose had started bleeding. Annoying, but not much he could do about it now.

"Roer!" he called out, suddenly remembered seeing Roer get hit in the chest. He ran over to where Roer was laying and began helping him up. "Roer!"

"I'm alright," Roer muttered, sitting upright. "I'm alright." He paused as he noticed Moss checking him over. "Am I alright?"

"Yeah," Moss said, astonished to find that was true. Roer's chest plate was scrap, having been completely melted, but surprisingly the plasma had failed to penetrate. Aside from some first degree burns on the exposed parts of Roer's face, he was surprisingly unharmed. "Yeah. You feel alright?"

"Yeah, quit looking at me like that," Roer said, pushing Moss away. He staggered to his feet while Moss retrieved his rifle from the ground.

"2nd Squad, on your feet!" Lancelot ordered. "Get to friendly lines and clear the street!"

Moss glanced back as he ran towards the circle. The smothering ruins of the AA Wraith laid at the bottom of a massive crater in the middle of the street, surrounded by Covenant bodies, blocking off much of the road, but in the distance, Moss could hear more Covenant vehicles and soldiers advancing towards them. He came across Griffin, who was limping down the road while being supported by Norén.

"Griffin! You alright?" Moss asked as he grabbed Griffin's other arm to help.

"He's got some bullet fragments lodged in his lower abdomen area," Norén reported. "Don't know how bad it is, need to remove his armor to check. Doc Westley should definitely take a look at it."

"How fucked up is that man?" Griffin said with a laugh. "Weren't the plasma that hurt me, it's my own fucking bullets."

"Only you Griffin, only you," Moss commented. "Anyone see Pip?"

"I'm right here," Poblede called out as she came running up, looking no worse for wear. "Thank fucking god for the UNSC Air Force, huh? Hey, you guys alright?"

"Still breathing. You?"

"Still breathing," she parroted before letting out a sigh. "Fuck man, that was intense."

"Don't relax," Lancelot warned. "Corporal, Specialist, cover our six. Covenant may have pulled back, but only to regroup. They'll be back soon. So hurry the fuck up."

They hurriedly crossed the traffic circle, weaving their way through abandoned vehicles, both civilian and military, and made their way into the hotel Hoplite-3 was holed up in. Despite the beating it had just received, the building was still standing, abet badly damaged. Every single window had been shattered, and there were gaping holes in the walls. Part of the roof had collapsed, and a fire had broken out somewhere on the seventh floor.

Forcing his way inside, Moss glanced around. Soot covered the walls and every square centimeter was covered in a fine layer of dust. Fresh blood and bullet casings mixed together on the ground and a number of bodies wearing UNSC Army uniforms were lying where they had fallen. Still, a large group of uninjured soldiers were running around, evacuating the wounded and shoring up defenses. Moss spotted the Stretcher Team crouched on the ground nearby.

"Roer, go find yourself a replacement chest plate. Doc!" Moss called out, catching Westley's attention. "Griffin's been hit!"

"Set him right here!" she ordered, pointing to a spot on the ground. Moss deposited Griffin on the indicated area and as Westley began checking Griffin over, he turned his attention to Lancelot.

"I'm Lieutenant Lancelot, 131st Engineer Battalion, 3rd Brigade of the 222nd Airborne," he was saying. "Who's in command here?"

One of the soldiers from Hoplite-3 awkwardly raised her hand. "Uh, I think that would be me sir. Sergeant Restrepo, 2nd Battalion, 337th AR, 1st Brigade, 53rd Armored."

"Armored Regiment? You a tanker?" Lancelot inquired.

"Yes sir."

Lancelot looked around. "Well, then, where the fuck are all your tanks?"

"Scattered around the city in burning wrecks sir," Restrepo admitted. "I don't know what it is about this place, but after the Covenant made landfall, they were content to leave us alone, focusing their attack on the metropolitan areas down south. Then about an hour ago, Covenant suddenly started throwing everything at us, including the kitchen sink sir. We've been executing a non-stop fighting retreat since then, trying to hold on until reinforcements get here."

"Well, they just arrived," Lancelot declared. He gestured to the rest of the soldiers milling around the room. "They all tankers?"

"No sir. We're mostly made up of soldiers from Echo Company of 2nd Battalion, but we've also got elements from our assigned mechanized infantry support, as well as from our forward support company."

"How many total?"

"Still standing sir? Maybe thirty-three."

"What sort of assets do you have at your disposal Sergeant? Do you still have that target locator?"

"No sir. That was destroyed a few seconds after we called in that airstrike. We do have a radio connection to a variety of fire support but without that target locator… Um, none of us actually know how to manually call in a fire mission," Restrepo confessed.

"You let me worry about that. What other assets do you have?"

"We managed to salvage a couple of .50cals from our tanks sir, but aside from that, just regular small arms: assault rifles, magnums and DMRs." Restrepo hesitated before adding, "Of which, we are running low on ammo."

"Sergeant Shen, collect all the spare ammo from 2nd Squad and redistribute them to the TWATs(8)," Lancelot immediately barked. "And collected all the ammo from the dead; we're going to need every single bullet we can get."

Moss collected the belts of ammo hanging from his shoulders, as well as half a dozen rifle magazines and handed them over to Restrepo. He watched as Lancelot walked over to the front entrance and look outside.

"Who's covering your flanks?"

"Hoplite-5 is to our east and Viking-3 is to our west sir. Though, I don't think we can ask them for more troops. They're probably just as battered as we are sir."

"All I want to know is if our flanks are secured." Moss watched as Lancelot pace around the front entrance for a bit, before turning around to face them, rubbing his chin. "Okay, first things first. Sergeant Restrepo, organize a four man team to evacuate the critically wounded to the rear. Bring the air wingers(9) with you, they're no good to us down here in the trenches; get them back in the air where they belong."

"There are three main avenues the Covenant are going to use to push their armor through: call them east, south, and west approaches. With the southern approach mostly blocked by that Wraith wreck, my main concern is the east and west approaches. We divide up into three groups: 1st Section will be under the command of Sergeant Shen and Corporal Poblede, and consist of Private Griffin as well as twelve soldiers from the 53rd. Take one of the .50cals, go into that building," he pointed to the building across the street from them, "and cover the east approach. 2nd Section, under the command of Sergeant Restrepo and consisting of Specialist Roer and Norén, as well another twelve soldiers from the 53rd, will remain here with the other .50cal and cover the west approach. Everybody else will be with me in the Command Section. We'll be up on the upper floors, calling in fire support. As our anti-armor weaponry is somewhat limited, most of the fire missions will be directed against Covenant armor."

"Sergeant Restrepo, are there any civilians we need to worry about?"

Restrepo looked thoughtful for a moment, before shaking her head. "No sir. We haven't seen any civilians in the last half hour so if there are any left in the AO, they're behind enemy lines and they're not making it through the Covenant on their own."

Moss noticed the troubled look on Roer's face. Moss wanted to say or doing something that would help reassure Roer, but he couldn't think of anything and the moment passed as Lancelot continued to speak.

"No civilians means no friendlies on the streets. So, you see any movement that's not broadcasting a friendly IFF, kill it, it's a bad guy. As of right now, we're all part of Hoplite-3. Channel 17 will be our general com channel, channel 10, 11, and 12 for 1st, 2nd, and the Command Section, respectively. Any questions?"

The sound of Covenant vehicles could be heard approaching their position in the distance.

"Covenant are coming. I'm going to call in a strike, slow them down, but it's not going to stop them. Ready your positions. Go."

The group broke apart. Moss immediately headed to Griffin as Restrepo began splitting her troops into three groups. Griffin was busy talking to Westley.

"All I'm saying," Griffin was saying as he re-secured his body armor, "Since you've already seen me topless, it only seems fair that I get to see you topless."

"Griffin, survival first, everything else second." Moss barked. "You combat ready?"

"Yeah, he's fine Sergeant," Westley said with an obvious roll of her eyes, packing up her equipment. "Wound wasn't bad. Took some shrapnel out and slapped some biofoam on it. He's good to go."

"Thanks Doc," Moss told her as she headed up the stairs to follow Lancelot. "Come on Griffin, let's go."

Gathering the rest of his section, Moss led the way into the next building, which was some sort of restaurant. The restaurant was no good for defense: with floor to ceiling display windows, the floor was too open to attack, providing little to no cover, so Moss had this section go up to the second floor. The top few floors was some sort of condominium or apartment complex, with smaller windows and a lot of furniture for cover. Moss found a room that had windows overlooking the east approach.

"So," Poblede asked, surveying the room. "What do you want to do?"

"Honestly, I want to go home," Moss admitted. "But since we can't, why don't you take two guys and all the mines we have. Plant them in the entrances of those buildings," Moss pointed to the buildings across the circle. "Make it so the Covies can't get inside and catch us in a crossfire. Set the fuzes to proxy det; we're going to lose track of them the moment the shooting starts up again."

"Got it."

"You three," Moss pointed at three random soldiers. "Start moving all the furniture to this corner, give us a bit more of a barricade. Griffin!"

"What's up Sergeant?"

"Start making some firing holes in the walls so we're not all crowded around the window."

"Right-o."

Moss turned to the last two guys, the ones carrying the heavy machine gun.

"You two my gunners?" he asked them and they nodded. "What are your names?"

"Specialist Caldwell," one of them replied. "I'm a small arms repairer assigned to Maintenance Platoon, 2nd Forward Support Company."

"Uh, Private Wilks," the other man nervously replied. "Yankee Company, 6th Battalion, 109th Infantry. I'm, uh, _was_ , part of Lieutenant Zahara's platoon."

"You alright there Private?" Moss asked. "You look like you're trembling."

"Uh, yes sir," Wilks responded. "I mean, no sir. Uh, sorry sir. I was only assigned to this outfit a couple of weeks ago sir."

Moss patted Wilks on the shoulder. "It's alright to be nervous Private. But don't call me sir. I'm a sergeant, not an officer. I don't warrant the 'sir' title."

"Sorry sir."

Moss paused, but then decided not to comment. "Listen you two, I want you to position the machine gun right here, cover the road. But don't fire until I tell you, you understand? Standard Covenant procedure when assaulting a fixed position is to send waves of Grunts in first, soak up some of the gunfire. Now, I don't know how much .50cal ammo we have, but I doubt we have that much. So save your ammo for the big aliens. Bottom line is, wait for me to tell you when to shoot, you got it?"

"Roger that Sarge," Caldwell barked out.

 _FWEEEEEEETTT!_

"Incoming!" Caldwell yelled out.

Moss raised an eyebrow as both Caldwell and Wilks ducked at the sound of artillery whistling overhead. "That's outgoing guys," Moss informed them as several explosions rang out from only a couple blocks away. "203mm artillery by the sounds of it. Probably called in by Lieutenant Lancelot."

As an afterthought, Moss set his radio so that all radio chatter from his section would be fed in one ear, while all chatter on the general channel would be fed through his other ear.

 _ **SWHOOOOSHHHH!**_

"Okay, _now_ that's incoming!" Moss yelp. "INCOMING!" he bellowed as the plasma mortars slammed into the ground and released their deadly payloads, causing the entire building to shake. He spotted Poblede and the team she had taken across the circle running back towards them and Moss quickly stood up and gestured wildly at them. "Come on! Get to cover!"

 _ **SWHOOOOSHHHH KABOOM, KABOOM!**_

Moss saw her disappear into the building. A few moments later, she came running into the room and dropped to the ground next to him, panting from exertion.

"Mines in place Moss," she breathlessly reported.

"Good. Griffin, you good?"

"Fucking a!"

Figuring that meant "yes," Moss turned to the rest of his section. "Hey!" he barked at them, catching their attention. "We've got the entire floor to ourselves, so spread out a bit! That means you too Pip," he said, turning back to Poblede. "If I go down, you're in charge, got it?"

"Yeah, I know how the chain of command works," she replied. Standing up in a crouch, she bumped fist with him. "Good luck!" she told him, before running to the far side of the room.

Moss turned his attention back to the road as plasma mortars continued to bombard the building and the surrounding area. The ground shook as mortar after mortar detonated, and plaster and concrete rained down from the ceiling, covering everyone in a fine layer of dust. Moss watched as a plasma mortar fall short of the building, landing in the traffic circle and impact directly underneath an abandoned city bus. The ensuing explosion incinerated half the vehicle and threw the remaining half a good two to three meters into the air. The wreck seemed to hang in mid-air for a couple of seconds, but just as it was about to come crashing back down to the ground, it took a direct hit from another plasma mortar and exploded. Moss ducked as his building was sprayed with half-melted rubber and aluminum.

"Come on LT," Moss couldn't help mutter to himself. "Let's get some counter-battery going on."

 _ **KABOOOMM**_ _!_

There was a particularly vicious explosions as a plasma mortar landed just outside the building. Moss was knocked backwards as the wall physically recoiled from the explosion, hitting him like a punch to the chest. Burning chunks of plasma were thrown throw the windows, starting small fires.

"Shit!" Moss yelp as he realized his sleeve had caught on fire. He slapped his sleeve with his free hand a couple of times before the flames were extinguished. As he did, he became aware of the sound of someone screaming. It was Wilks.

"Sarge!" he was saying. "Caldwell's been hit!"

Moss scrambled over to the machine gun team. Caldwell was writhing around on the ground, his hands wrapped around his neck, blood leaking out from between his fingers, choking. Moss immediately dropped to his knees to check on the injury, but Caldwell was thrashing around on the ground too much for him to get a good look.

"Medic! This is Section 1, I have a man down!" Moss yelled into his radio as he reached out and tried to grab Caldwell by the arms to hold him still. "Specialist, hold still, let me take a look!" he desperately screamed at him but Caldwell was too far gone from the pain to hear.

"Medic!" Moss tried again. "Wilks, get over here and help me hold him down!" Moss ordered, fighting with Caldwell to keep him steady. Wilks failed to materialize, so Moss glanced in his direction and couldn't help but snarl in annoyance. Wilks was sitting in the ground, his arms wrapped around his legs, rocking back and forth. His eyes were wide open and he barely reacted to Moss calling out his name again, only flinching when the building took another two direct hits from plasma mortars.

"Caldwell, god dammit, hold still!" Moss yelled in frustration, finally moving Caldwell into a position where he could sit on him, keeping Caldwell from lashing out with his legs, but he still couldn't get Caldwell to move his hands.

"Sergeant!" someone, one of the other 53rd troopers, screamed. "Sergeant! The Covenant are coming! They're pushing Shadows down the street! What do we do? Should we fire?"

Moss looked up just in time to see the speaker take a direct hit from a heavy plasma cannon. The high velocity plasma bolt burned a clean hole right through the man's chest. Moss watched as an expression of surprise pass over the man's face before he sagged to the ground, clearly dead.

"Stay down!" Moss screamed at his section as heavy plasma bolts, on top of the plasma mortars already hitting them, started to impact the building. "Fucking, stay down!"

Keeping Caldwell steady with one hand, Moss awkwardly reached up with his other and keyed his microphone. "3, this is 3-1, we've got Covenant armor pushing up the East Approach. Requesting immediate fire support, over!"

" _3-1, this is 3, we're relocating right now and I can't fucking see the target_ ," Lancelot immediately responded. " _Give me a direction and distance, and I'll call in a strike_ , _over_."

"Fuck!" Moss said, realizing that would require him getting off Caldwell. He was about to do just that, but then Westley came running up.

"Where's he hit?" she demanded to know.

"In the neck! I don't know how bad it is because I can't hold him down long enough to see!"

"Specialist, my name is Doc Westley! I'm a medic! I'm trying to fix you, but you need to hold still for me to do that!" Westley yelled at Caldwell. She bent over to look at his injury, but for her troubles, she took an elbow to her face. "Fuck, hold him down!"

"Fucking put him under Doc!" Moss ordered.

Westley pulled out an autoinjector and jabbed him in the leg, but nothing happened. Westley began cussing.

"Hit him again!" Moss ordered as Caldwell continued to thrash.

"He's wearing too much fucking clothing! The needle isn't long enough to puncture his skin! I need a bare patch of skin! Roll up his shirt!"

Moss tried to roll up Caldwell's jacket, but his body armor was in the way. Moss then tried to roll up a pant leg, but they were bloused into his boot, which were too tightly laced for Moss to undo. Moss grabbed Caldwell's arm to roll up a sleeve, but as soon as let go of the legs, Caldwell started kicking again.

"Hold him still god dammit!" Westley demanded as she tried to inject him again but failed.

"I'm fucking trying!" Moss bellowed, losing his temper. "Wilks, get your ass over here now!" he screeched, but Wilks was completely non-responsive.

 _CRACK!_

A single purple needle slammed into Westley's thigh, right through her sidearm. She collapsed to the ground and immediately grabbed the needle and ripped it out, tossing it away least it exploded. But doing so caused blood to immediately begin gushing from the wound.

"Fuck! They fucking got me!" she groaned. "Fuck!" she repeated as she removed slapped a temporary bandage over the wound. "You fucking cunt lickers! Fucking pricks!"

" _Sarge!_ " someone began screaming over the radio in one of Moss' ears. " _Sarge, Grunts and Jackals are advancing down the street! Christ, there are hundreds of them! There's too much suppressive fire, I can't get a clear shot! What do we do?"_

" _3-1, this 3, I still need the direction and distance for that strike! Hurry it up, I need to call in a strike for 3-2, over!_ " Lancelot said into Moss' other ear.

"Moss, I got to hold this wound closed or I bleed out," Westley informed him through gritted teeth. "I need you to seal the wound with biofoam before I can let go."

 _ **SWOOOSHHHKABOOOOOMMM!**_

"Momma! Momma!" Wilks began screaming as the building shook again as it took another direct hit.

Underneath him, Caldwell continued to thrash in pain as plaster fell down from the ceiling, showering them all in dust.

Explosions continued to rip through the earth, but Moss could no long hear them as all the noise, the radio chatter, the screams, the gunfire, all began merging together and washing over him. It was getting hard to concentrate. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion and Moss was finding it hard to focus his eyes on any one particular point; objects were beginning to seem very far away, as if he was looking at them through a pair of very thick glasses. There was just too many things going on at the same time, overwhelming his thoughts and his senses. Moss took a deep breath and tried to focus on one task at a time, but it was like trying to catch fish in a pond with his bare hands. Every time he lashed out, his thoughts floated away, as if on a breeze. Then a voice cut through all the noise.

" _3-Actual, this is 3-1,"_ Moss heard Poblede say. " _We need an immediate airstrike on three Covenant Shadows laying down suppressive fire on our position. Direction is 105 degrees east, range, three hundred meters. I'm marking the targets with red smoke."_

" _Copy that 3-1. Will convey. Be advised, fast-movers are zero three mikes out."_

" _Copy. 3-1 out. Listen up 1st Section, as soon as those Shadows are taken out, we open fire with everything we got. Wait for my command!"_

If Poblede was sitting next to him, Moss would have kissed her. As it were, all Moss could do was send her grateful thoughts as he found he could finally focus on his task at hand. Abandoning Caldwell for the moment, Moss rolled over to Westley. Pulling out a tourniquet, Moss wrapped it around her leg and tightened it enough to cut the blood flow. He shoved a can of biofoam into her hands and while she applied it to herself, Moss grabbed the autoinjector off the ground where Westley had left it. Grabbing one of Caldwell's arms, Moss held him down long enough to pull up a sleeve and inject him in the arm. It took a couple of moments, but Caldwell finally calmed down enough for Westley to take a look.

"How bad is it?" he asked as she worked.

"He got hit in the neck Corporal, that's never a good thing," Westley distractedly replied. "But he'll live. Hey, as soon as I stabilize him, help me drag him into the hallway!"

Moss anxiously waited until Westley was ready before dragging Cadwell out of the room, with Westley following after him.

"Doc, you good?" Moss frantically asked as she limped into the room and the sound of machine gun fire began ripping through the air. "You got this?"

"Don't worry about me, worry about the bad guys outside!"

Moss darted back into the room, almost losing his head as a green plasma bolt splattered against the top of the door frame. Dozens of Covenant Grunts were advancing down street, firing as they maneuvered from cover to cover. Two AA Wraiths advanced with them, giving them mobile cover. 1st Section fired on them, but it wasn't easy to get a clear shot as while no more heavy plasma bolts were hitting their position, plasma mortars continued to rain down on them. 1st Section wasn't completely helpless though and as Moss watched, a missile struck one of the advancing Wraiths, disabling it. Seconds later, a 203mm airburst shell detonated roughly ten meters over the ground, spraying the street below with shrapnel and killing or wounding dozens of Grunts. Unfortunately, it was a short lived victory as more continued quickly took their place.

Bring his rifle to bear, Moss fired a few shots down range before dashing over to the heavy machine gun. He slid to a stop next to the weapon.

"Wilks!" Moss called out, but Wilks continued to sit there, sobbing and screaming for his mother. Losing his patience, Moss roughly grabbed and pulled him close.

"Private, look at me. Look at me!" Moss barked. "Take a deep breath and calm the fuck down!" Moss waited until Wilks had done just that. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I can't be here Sarge," Wilks whimpered. "I don't want to be here! I didn't ask for this! I was drafted!"

"GRENADE!"

Moss dragged Wilks down as he dove to the ground. He heard the telltale whine as the plasma grenade exploded, and he felt the hair on the back of neck stick up as the static discharge from the grenade wash over him.

"Listen to me Private," Moss said as the explosion died down. "No one wants to be here. Absolutely no one. But we are all here because we all want the same thing: to protect our families. Look outside and think about where you're from; you want your hometown to look like this?"

Wilks frantically shook his head.

"You want your family to have to face the same shit we do every day?"

"No… no Sergeant!" Wilks said, shaking his head.

"Then get on that motherfucking machine gun and don't stop shooting until I tell you otherwise."

"Yes Sergeant!" Wilks bellowed. He sat up, grabbed the M247H heavy machine gun by the spade grips and yanked back on the charging handle a couple of times.

In the meantime, Moss grabbed a couple boxes of ammo, removed the belts, and began linking them together. Generally, it was a bad idea to link more than one belt of ammo together because the weight of the ammo could damage the belt feed pawl and slide, but as long as Moss fed the gun, it would be alright. And given the massive horde of aliens charging at them, Moss figured they would need to be able to fire the machine gun pretty much non-stop.

Holding onto the belt, Moss scanned the street for a target. There were plenty of Grunts to shoot at, but it seemed like overkill to use the heavy machine gun them. Then he spotted a trio of Jackals laying down a base of fire behind a small cinder block wall.

"Private Wilks! Do you see those Jackals behind that cinder block wall?"

Wilks pointed the machine gun in their direction. "Yes Sergeant!"

"Turn them into mulch!"

"Die you motherfuckers!" Wilks screamed as the machine gun roared to life.

The wall the Jackals were hiding behind was completely obliterated as Wilks held his thumbs down on the butterfly trigger, the cinder blocks doing very little to stop the bullets. Even their energy shields were no match for the powerful machine gun: the shields absorbed the impact of maybe a couple rounds before winking out of existence, and the Jackals practically exploded as the heavy rounds tore them to shreds.

Bloody chunks of flesh littered the ground and the snow was stained with purple blood, but Wilks continued to hold down the trigger, screaming incoherently over the roar of the machine gun.

"Hey! Shift targets!" Moss screamed at him, but Wilks didn't hear him. Moss kicked at him, but Wilks still didn't seem to notice so Moss twisted the belt of ammo in his hands, deliberately jamming the machine gun.

"Short, steady burst Private!" Moss howled at him as the machine gun fell silent. "Don't waste all your fucking ammo on one trigger pull!"

"Sorry Sergeant!" Wilks called back as he unjammed the gun.

"Don't apologize, just do it! Elite Minor, one hundred meters, fire!"

Wilks pushed the trigger, firing two quick five round burst in the direction of the Elite. The Elite's shield absorbed the impact of the first burst before collapsing, and the Elite started to dodge out of the way of the second, but not before taking another round to the arm, which was blown off entirely. The Elite stumbled to the ground, out of sight

"Yeah, like that! Keep that up!" Moss urged. "Pan left, target, enemy group of Jackals!"

"That Elite's not dead!" Wilks warned.

"Yeah, but he's out of the fight which is good enough for now! Now fire!"

The HMG spat out a couple dozen rounds, blowing away the Jackals.

"Target! Covenant Grunt with heavy weaponry, one oh five meters!"

Wilks fired, blowing the Grunt's head off with his first round. Moss could see the fuel rod cannon the Grunt had been toting clatter to the ground.

"Disable that fuel rod cannon!"

Tracer rounds lanced through the housing of the cannon, cutting right through its ammo reserves. The fuel rods exploded, taking out a number of Grunts running nearby.

"Good shot!"

 _CRACK!_

Moss flinched as a radioactive green projectile passed through the space between his and Wilks' head. He looked for the soldier with the plasma carbine and immediately spotted him.

"Target, Skirmisher sharpshooter on the Wraith wreck behind the main gun! Two hundred meters, fire!"

Before Wilks could fire, a mortar round exploded right over the Skirmisher's head. The Skirmisher's body essentially melted as it absorbed the full impact.

"Never mind! New target, Elite Minor one block down on the right!"

The gun rattled, but the shots failed to connect when the Elite unexpected ducked behind a crowd of Grunts.

"Ugh, I can't get a clear shot!" Wilks cried out. "The Grunts are in the way!"

Moss gave him a blank stare. "So shoot through them dude."

"Oh. Right."

Moss quickly fed the belt through as Wilks laid down on the trigger. Grunt body parts were sent flying in all directions as the .50cal rounds punched through armor and flesh alike. There was a blue flash as one of the .50cal rounds hit a plasma grenade, setting off. The ensuing explosion set off a sympathetic detonation among all the other plasma grenades the Grunts were carrying. The shockwave from the blast enveloped the Elite Minor, disabling his shields and throwing him through the ground floor window of a nearby store. Moss tracked the Elite as he flew through the air, where he noticed the half dozen Grunts carrying heavy weapons into the building the Elite landed in.

Moss traced the building up, but then movement in the third floor window overlooking the street caught his attention. He looked up just in time to see the muzzle flash of a heavy plasma cannon.

"DOWN!" Moss cried, grabbing Wilks and dropping to the ground.

Plasma bolts soared through the open window and smashed against the wall behind them, throwing splinters throughout the room. Moss rose up to lay down some fire, but the plasma cannon had their position zeroed him, forcing him to stay down.

"Pip!" Moss called into his microphone. "Heavy weapons emplacement, yellow building, one block down, right side of the street! Third story window! Take it out!"

" _I'm out of forty mil!"_

Moss hastily removed the bandolier of grenades he had strapped around his waist.

"Pip!" he hollowed, sliding the belt across the floor in her direction. She grabbed it, ripped out a grenade and loaded it, then fired.

And missed by a good fifteen meter.

"Pip, how the fuck do you miss a stationary target!?" Moss screamed.

" _I don't want to talk about it!"_ Poblede screamed back and Moss could hear her frantically reloading.

Poblede's shot did have the unexpected effect of drawing the cannon's fire, and she quickly ducked as plasma bolts shattered the wall in front of her. With the plasma cannon distracted, Moss and Wilks quickly engaged.

"Suppress that window!" Moss ordered a bit unnecessarily as Wilks had already opened up. Giant holes were punched into the masonry surrounding the window and Moss was pretty sure he saw the Grunt gunner being taken out by a stray round, but he knew the cannon would still be operational.

"Pip, put one through the window. Don't fucking miss this time," Moss ordered.

Poblede fired again. This time the grenade soared through the open window, taking out the entire room.

"That's better," Moss commented.

" _Shut the fuck up Moss."_

Moss was about to retort when he noticed a Grunt dash out into the center of the street with a fuel rod cannon point straight at them.

"Rocket!" Moss screamed, grabbing his rifle. He planted a round right between the Grunt's eyes, but not before he managed to get a shot off.

"Incoming!" Wilks screamed, diving for the floor.

The fuel rod streaked towards them and slammed into the wall right next to them, blowing a hole and showering them with brick and drywall. Moss felt a couple of splinters cut across his face, but his main concern was for the machine gun.

"Clean the gun!" Moss urged as he frantically removed the larger chunks of debris off the belt to prevent a misfeed while Wilks quickly wiped off the receiver with his sleeve. "Cycle the bolt, make sure it's still feed properly!"

As Wilks yanked back on the charging handle, Moss heard Lancelot calling over the radio. _"3-1, this is 3 actual, come in!"_

"Open fire Wilks!" Moss ordered as he grabbed his microphone. "Go for 3-1!"

" _3-1, listen closely,"_ Lancelot began, sounding more pissed off than Moss had ever heard him. _"Viking-3 has abandoned their position, leaving our asses hanging in the air. We got Covenant trying to outflank us. Take your .50cal, go find a hole and stop them! We cannot lose this position! Coordinate with call sign Panther 6-5 for fire support! Do it, and do it now!"_

"Shit," Moss muttered under his breath. "Copy that 3. Wilks, break down the MG, we're relocating! Pip, we're about to get outflanked from the west!"

" _Shit! What do you want me to do?"_

"Lock this place down, I'm taking the .50 and a couple guys to stop them!" Moss stood up and grabbed the two closet soldiers to him. "You two, with me! Wilks, grab the MG. You! Grab the tripod. You! Grab the ammo!" Moss quickly gathered his equipment. "Let's go!"

Moss led the way as they worked their way to the rear of the building. Finding a room near the staircase that would hopefully give them a view of the next intersection, Moss kicked in the door.

"Through here!" Moss yelled, pointing at a window that directly overlooked the intersection they needed to cover.

"Covies in the open!" the soldier carrying the tripod yelped, throwing the machine gun stand to the ground. Moss glanced through the window and was startled to see an entire platoon of Covenant infantry making their way down the street towards them.

"Wilks, engage!"

"We're still setting up the tripod!" one of the soldiers protested.

Moss grabbed a nearby table and shoved it under the window. "Set up on the table and engage before they get too close!"

Wilks tossed the machine gun onto the table. Pushing down on the carrying handle at the top of receiver to help keep the gun in place, Wilks open fired, instantly killing the Grunt Major on point and sending the rest scattering for cover.

"Keep feeding him ammo," Moss yelled into the ear of the ammo bearer. "Tripod, cover them!"

Sling his rifle over his shoulder, Moss pulled out his TACPAD and radio, calling up a gridded holographic map of his location. "Panther 6-5, this Hoplite 3-1, fire support WARNO incoming, do you copy?" he called into the radio, struggling to remember how to call in an artillery strike. Lancelot had made every single soldier in 1st Platoon learn the protocols for calling in a fire support mission just prior to deploying to Newsaka, but this was the first time Moss had actually done so in combat. Because of this, Moss couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief when someone responded.

" _Hoplite 3-1 this is Panther 6-5, go ahead."_

"Panther 6-5, requesting immediate fire support at grid location," Moss quickly consulted his map, "Echo Tango three seven five niner two two six one, direction one eight zero. Forty plus foot-mobiles in the open. Requesting one spotting round and HE airburst on target. Be advised, this is a danger close strike, over!"

" _Copy that Hoplite 3-1. One round at grid echo tango seven five niner two two six one, direction one eight zero. Danger close strike. Authenticate, Tango Alpha, over?"_

The question caused Moss to start, and he quickly scrolled through his TACPAD for authorization codes.

"I authenticate, Sierra Tango, over," he blurted out.

" _Copy. Shot, over."_

"Shot, out!" Moss called. He waited anxiously for the first round to arrive.

" _Splash, over."_

Moss grabbed his radio. "Splash, out!"

There was a loud whistle overhead, one that was audible even over the roar of the heavy machine gun, and Moss was surprised, but not displeased, when a 155mm shell exploded right over the heads of the advancing Covenant, knocking them to the ground.

"Good hit!" Moss cheered into the radio, not even bothering to hide the relief in his voice. "Fire for effect, fire for effect!"

As he watched more shells explode overhead, he became aware that the .50cal was no longer firing. "What the fuck?" he asked. "Get that gun in operation!"

"I'm jammed!" Wilks warned, yanking back on the charging handle and trying the trigger again. Nothing happened.

"Oh fuck. Rifles up, cover!" Moss ordered, unsling his rifle and began sending rounds downrange. Meanwhile, Wilks continued to yank back on the charging handle, trying the trigger after every pull, but it didn't seem to work.

"Get that fucking gun back into operation!" Moss anxiously demanded. Despite artillery fire, the Covenant continued to charge forward, regardless of casualties.

"I'm trying!" Wilks replied as he futilely continued to yank back on the charging handle, slamming down on the trigger after every pull.

"Okay, stop! You're going to break something if you keep doing that. Do a proper malfunctions check!"

"I don't know how," Wilks admitted. "I never got qualified on this gun!"

"Fuck! Alright, I'll walk you through it. Is anything getting ejected when you rack the bolt?"

Wilks pulled the charging handle one last time. "I don't think so!"

"Shit. Alright, put the gun on safe and then pull the bolt to the rear," Moss commanded, pausing to fire a couple of rounds out the window. "Pop open the feed tray and remove the ammo belt. Look inside the chamber, you see anything?"

"Yeah, I think there's a ruptured case here!"

Moss slung his rifle over his shoulder and scooted over to Wilks. "Move."

Pulling out his multi-tool and extending the pliers, Moss grabbed the casing and tried to pull it free, but it was wedged in place fairly tightly.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he muttered to himself. He finally managed to get a good grip on it and yank it free.

Racking the charging handle a couple of times, he replaced the belt and then slammed the free tray cover closed.

"You're good to go! Reengage!"

Wilks jammed his thumbs down on the triggers and Moss glanced out the window. He was terrified to see that the Covenant had taken advantage in the temporary slackening of gunfire to advancing even closer to their position. Moss grabbed his radio.

"Panther 6-5, Hoplite 3-1! Covenant are getting closer! Need to repeat last fire mission, but drop fifty and fire for effect, over!"

A plasma bolt smacked the window frame and Moss grabbed his rifle and fired at the shooter. His rifle clicked empty and he was in the middle of reloading when Tripod suddenly grabbed his shoulder.

"Sergeant, are we getting reinforced here?" he urgently asked.

"No, we don't have any more men to spare, why?"

"Because I just heard someone moving in the hallway!"

Moss opened his mouth to query further but then his motion detector _pinged_ , indicating movement just outside the room. There was no associated IFF tags, but Moss hesitated to open fire. Perhaps there were some civilians let in the building.

That theory was quickly put to bed when a plasma grenade was tossed into the room. The grenade adhered itself to the fresh magazine Moss was holding in his hand. He instinctively hurtled the entire magazine out the window, screaming, "Grenade!"

"Son of a bitch!" Tripod yelped, emptying his assault rifle into the section of wall next to the doorway.

As he heard a body slump down to the ground, another Grunt stepped into the doorway. Still attempting to reload his rifle, Moss whipped out his sidearm, gunning the Grunt down. Running up the doorway, Moss glanced out and saw a number of Covenant soldiers running up the staircase across the hall. Moss leveled his magnum and fired, his first round pinging off the metal handrail, causing all the Covenant to duck.

"Frell!" he spat, emptying his pistol. "Toss a grenade down there and then stagger your fire with mine!"

"I don't have any more grenades!"

"Then keep shooting!"

Tripod stood over Moss and fired down the staircase as Moss frantically reloaded his weapons.

"3-1 Actual to all Hoplite-3 units," Moss blurted into his radio as he worked. "Be advised, I have hostiles inside my perimeter, I say again, hostiles inside the perimeter!"

An empty magazine clattered against his helmet. "Reloading!" Tripod warned and Moss brought his rifle to bear as the radio waves exploded with chatter.

" _3 Actual to all Hoplite-3 units, give me a sitrep, over."_

" _This is 3-1, we're holding but barely. Running low on ammo!"_

" _This 3-2, I have a breach! Covenant soldiers have breached the building! Oh shit, look out!"_

"Rounds complete!" Wilks abruptly yelled. "Sarge, we're out of .50cal!"

"This is 3-1 Actual, I'm black on .50cal and I have a ton of infantry inside my perimeter," Moss warned.

Moss could hear Lancelot sigh over the radio. _"Alright, I'm calling it,"_ he announced. " _Hoplite-3 to Mama Goose. I need FPF on my location. Be advised, I have hostiles inside my perimeter. Have all batteries zero in on my transmission and fire for effect, over."_

" _Solid copy Hoplite-3. Good luck."_

"Fuck you, you little prick," Moss couldn't help but spit out as he reloaded.

Deafening explosions rang out as the building started taking direct hits from UNSC artillery. First bombarded by Covenant anti-air artillery, then plasma mortars, and now finally, UNSC artillery, the building began to violently shake and make some disturbing noises, as if it was threatening to collapse. For a moment, Moss was worried, then realized it didn't matter as they were seconds from getting overrun. If the building collapsed, then at least this way they would be able to take some of the Covenant with them.

Then, something strange happened. The Covenant forces on the stairs wavered, and all of the sudden they began charging, not up the stairs, but back down it. Moss couldn't believe his eyes; he'd never seen Covenant forces retreat before. A small part of his brain pointed out that was probably a bad thing, the Covenant retreating, as that probably meant something worse was coming, but the rest of Moss' brain was too busy trying to take advantage of the temporary lull in gunfire.

Stooping to grab the two plasma grenades off the dead Grunt in the doorway, Moss smacked Tripod on the leg to get his attention. Moss then charged out of the room, firing his rifle as he ran to the staircase, Tripod quickly joining him.

"Nade out," Moss said, tossing one of the plasma grenades down the stairs, which detonated with a satisfying flash. It was nice not being on the receiving end for once.

"Sarge, we did it!" Moss heard Wilks triumphantly cry from inside the room. "The Covenant are turning tail and running! We're going to make it!"

 _ **KABOOM**_ _!_

Moss had reflexively turned at the sound of Wilks' voice and thus he was able to watch as the machine gun nest take a direct hit from a UNSC artillery shell. Moss caught a glance of Wilks as he was engulfed in a fireball before a cloud of dust shot out the open door, knocking Moss over.

"Damian!" Tripod cried, dashing headlong back into the room.

Moss tossed the last plasma grenade down the stairs for good measure and quickly ran after him.

Inside, the room was a mess. There was a giant gaping hole where the window used to be, and debris and shrapnel were scattered all over the room. Several floorboards had peeled away from the ground like the skin off a banana, and part of the ceiling had caught on fire. Of the machine gun crew or the machine gun, there was nothing left.

"Damian, no," Tripod sobbed, but Moss was too distracted by the sight of the Covenant retreating down the street to pay him any mind.

"Hey, shoot those motherfuckers!" Moss screamed, bringing his rifle to bear.

Moss' first round caught a Skirmisher right in the back of the head, who toppled to the ground like a felled tree. He switched targets, shooting a Grunt in the leg. The Grunt tripped, but was caught by another Grunt so Moss shot them both. He fired at a Jackal but missed and his rifle clicked empty. Tossing his rifle to the ground, Moss pulled his sidearm and pulled the trigger, only to find out that was out of ammo too. Before Moss could reload, the last of the retreating Covenant turned the corner and disappeared from sight.

Moss slowly removed his safety glasses and wiped his face, vague noting Lancelot calling for a cease fire of artillery over the radio. They had done it. Somehow, they had managed to hold their position. But Moss knew the reprieve wouldn't last long. The Covies would be back and as depleted as they were, they wouldn't be able to hold back the tide much longer.

"Contact rear!" Tripod screamed and startled, Moss grabbed his rifle and brought it up to his shoulder. He saw movement at the next intersection down and he started to take aim, but froze when a M808C "Scorpion" main battle tank turned the corner. Moss couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief at the sight, and he quickly held up a closed fist.

"Hold your fire," Moss ordered. He toggled his microphone. "3-1 to all units, be advised, we have friendlies rolling up on our six."

He stood up and waved at them as an entire tank platoon, as well as at least ten Warthog vehicles rounded the corner and headed towards him. The tanks were marked with some insignia Moss didn't recognize but as they drew closer, he realized it was because they were a Marine unit. Moss was startled to see a Marine lieutenant with his head held high, marching straight down the road in front of the column as if he was in a parade, but decided not to comment, instead choosing to run downstairs to greet them.

"I'm 2nd Lieutenant Gustavo Silva(10)," the lieutenant imperiously announced as Moss approached, and Moss resisted the urge to salute him. "Who's in charge here?"

"That would be Lieutenant Lancelot sir," Moss exhaustedly replied.

Silva wasn't paying attention, and instead was looking at the heavily damaged building with a critical eye. "Well, it seems the Army has made a mess of things, as usual," he declared. "No matter. With the entire 9th Marine Expeditionary Force at our disposal, this situation will be under control soon enough."

Silva's smug tone made Moss really wish he had saluted the man, but he restrained himself as Silva walked away, barking orders. He was replaced by a Marine staff sergeant with an apologetic look on his face.

"Sorry 'bout that Sergeant. Still tryin' to break in our new butterbar, gorram ring knocker. Staff Sergeant Reynolds." He extended his hand.

"Sergeant Moss Shen," Moss said, shaking the offered hand. "I wouldn't worry about it Sergeant, no offense taken."

"Lordy, looks like y'all had one hell of a fight," Reynolds commented, surveying the amount of dead Covenant lying in the street. "Thanks for softening them up for us. Y'all did good!"

Moss couldn't help but roll his eyes as Reynolds walked away. Marines.

His radio crackled to life.

" _3-1 Actual, this is 3 Actual."_

Moss grabbed his radio. "Go ahead 3."

" _3-1, gather up your sapper team and rendezvous on me."_

" _Command has a mission for you."_

* * *

1\. All number for the military breakdown at the beginning of the chapter are made up and not based on anything in reality

2\. Lieutenant General Vasili Afanasyevich Glazunov was the first commander of the Soviet Airborne Troops (the VDV), as well as a two time recipient of the "Hero of the Soviet Union" award (the Soviet Union equivalent to the US Medal of Honor) for his actions during WW2.

3\. The standard amount of ammo was based on the amount you start off with for the MA37 in the single player campaigns in _Halo: Reach_. Realistically, 7.62x51 is too heavy and too large for one soldier to reasonably carry all that. For the purpose of this fanfiction, we'll just say that by the 26th century, advances in propellant technology and alien materials had allowed ammo to weigh virtually nothing.

4\. Opening lyrics to the song "The U.S. Air Force," the official song of, well, the United States Air Force. Given that the UNSC military appears to have been heavily influenced by the US military, I figured the song would probably be the same, just updated.

5\. Swabbie: slang term for a member of the Navy

6\. "Bucket of bolts" is from _Star Wars: Episode V – The Empire Strikes Back_

7\. _Black Hawk Down_

8\. TWAT: US military acronym meaning **T** anker **W** ithout **A T** ank

9\. Air winger: US Marine Corps specific nickname for anyone in the United States Marine Corps Aviation

10\. Lieutenant Silva was originally supposed to be Major Antonio Silva, the hostile officer from the Halo novel, _Halo: The Flood_ , but according to his page on Halopedia, he spent his entire career as an ODST. But I didn't want to change the name so let's just assume Lieutenant Silva is Major Silva's equally obnoxious nephew.

General Note

\- I hadn't notice this until after I finished the chapter and started editing (and now I'm just too lazy to fix it,) but I realized I made a critical mistake. According to Halopedia, a Pelican is roughly 10 meters (33 feet) in height, whereas a standard parking garage level is usually only 2.1 to 2.4 meters (7 to 8 feet) in height. There's really no way the Pelican would have fit.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

 **Byzas, Thracia Province, Actium  
** **May 6, 2545  
1453**

"So... let me get this straight. We're blowing up this building."

"It could be the building, or it could be something inside the building."

"Okay, maybe its cause I never finished high school, but someone explain this to me: why are we blowing up a building that's three klicks behind friendly lines?"

"Dude, I just said: 'it might not be the building, it might be something inside.' Seriously, it's almost like I'm talking to myself or something."

"Wait, you never finished high school? How'd you get into the Army then?"

"That's the only thing you care about Roer? Forgot about that, let's worry about taking down this building."

"Pip. It. Might. Not. Be. The. Building."

"Sergeant, I don't think we have enough explosives to demolish this building. I've got, three blocks of C-12 and that's it," Norén reported as she rummaged through her backpack.

Moss threw his hands in the air. "For fuck's sake people, I don't know if we're blowing up the building! How many freaking times do I have to repeat myself?"

"If we aren't destroying the building, then why are we here Sergeant?" Norén asked.

"Because the LT told us to come here!"

"Moss what did Lancelot say?" Poblede asked.

"Again, for the fourth time. He said someone from battalion ordered him to detach one of his squads to these coordinates inside the city for an 'asset denial' mission. As we were the only squad currently under his direct command, he sent us. They did not tell him what we were supposed to destroy or whom to report to when we arrived! If they shared any more details about this mission, Lancelot didn't bother sharing it with me!" Moss finished, not even bothering to hide his irritation. His squad had been bugging him for answers ever since they detached from Hoplite-3, answers he didn't have. He couldn't blame them for wanting to know more: vaguely worded missions like this had a tendency to get people killed. At the same time, there were only so many ways Moss could say 'I don't know anything.'

Still, his squad persisted.

"Sergeant, did the LT say anything else?" Roer asked.

Moss glared at him. "You really want to know what else he said?"

Roer bobbed his head.

"He said: 'Finish the mission and hurry the fuck back here. Need you guys to help reinforce my position.' So, let's go into the building, figure out what the fuck we're supposed to do here, and then leave!"

"Well then, quit your bitching. Let's get inside, it's getting cold out here," Poblede snapped, walking passed Moss and into the building, with the rest of the squad following close behind.

Moss felt like throttling someone. As if he had been the one stopping them.

He took a moment to calm himself before heading into the building himself. Inside, it wasn't that much warmer. There was still power in this part of the city, but either the heat wasn't working or someone had turned it off. Still, by being inside, they were at least out of the wind. The sweat Moss had built up in the last hour or so had started to evaporate in the breeze, rapidly cooling down his body temperature, making him wish he had worn a few more layers. Rubbing his hands together to try and warm them up, Moss looked around, trying to figure out what to do next.

The building was some sort of converted small arms armory. Gun racks lined the walls, mostly empty, though there was still an odd assortment of weapons left. A sagging table sat up in the middle of the room, carrying a small pile of munitions, while a pile of spare body armor components had been carelessly stacked in one corner. There was no one in the room to report to, nor did there seem to be anything important enough worth destroying.

"What the actual fuck," Poblede bluntly stated. "There's nothing of value here."

Moss sighed. Removing his helmet, he ran his fingers through his hair a couple times in frustration. "Pip, take Norén and see if there's anything in the back. I'm going to call the LT, see if I can't get some clarification. The rest of you, I don't know, restock up on ammo or something."

"You think anyone will mind?" Roer asked.

"If we really are blowing up the building, who's going to notice?" Moss pointed out as he pulled out his radio. Before he could do anything though, he heard the door open behind him and someone called out, "Corporal Shen?"

Moss turned to see either an overstrengthed squad or vastly depleted platoon of infantrymen entering the building. Leading the group was Captain Rabinowitz, whom Moss remembered as the commanding officer of Quebec Company, the infantry unit Moss and his squad had supported during their assault on Hill 937 a few weeks ago.

"Captain Rabinowitz," Moss replied in greeting, snapping off a quick salute.

"How are you Corporal?" Rabinowitz asked, returning the salute before extending his hand.

"As well as could be expected under the circumstances sir," Moss replied as he returned the handshake. "And, begging your pardon sir, but it's actually Sergeant now."

"You got promoted? Well congratulations then Sergeant! It's a well-deserved promotion, I'm sure," Rabinowitz said genuinely.

"Thank you sir," Moss replied before grimacing. "Sir, I'm sorry, I hate to cut the small talk short, but my CO really needs us back on the MLR. So, if you could point out exactly what it is you need us to destroy, that would be much appreciated sir."

"I would love to Sergeant," Rabinowitz sincerely replied. "But the problem is, I'm not the one who ordered you here."

"You're not sir?" Moss replied, startled.

Rabinowitz shook his head. "No. I was ordered to detach one of my platoons to these coordinates to provide an escort detail for a combat engineer squad doing an asset denial operation, which, I assume is you? Aside from that, the details in regards to this operation were somewhat... lacking."

"Escort sir?" Moss queried scratching his head. This was the first he was hearing about an escort. "No offense sir but, what the hell do we need an escort for?"

"No idea. Hopefully whoever ordered us here will show up soon and give us the answers we desperately need."

"Do you happen to know where the orders originated from?" Moss couldn't help but ask. If he knew who gave the orders, then perhaps he could guess the reasoning.

"Oh, that would be me Sergeant."

Both Rabinowitz and Moss turned to see a stranger come walking into the building behind Rabinowitz's men.

Moss quickly studied the man. Unlike the rest of the occupants of the room, the newcomer was wearing a set of special operational forces armor, more commonly referred to as ODST armor, but instead of the standard jet black color, his had been painted white, with black and gray splotches to match the environment. He had an M6C/SOCOM pistol magnetized to his thigh, as well as a suppressed BR55 battle rifle magnetized to his back. The man's helmet was depolarized, revealing a somewhat weathered face with a bemused grin. He wore no identification: no unit or rank insignia, no special skill badges or tabs. He didn't even have a name tag. Moss couldn't even tell what branch of the military the man belonged to. He had no idea who this man was, but evidently Rabinowitz did as his face lit up upon seeing the man.

"Holy cow," Rabinowitz said, looking excited. "Now there's a face I haven't seen in a while: Captain Volkov!"

"Captain? Really Rabinowitz?" the man said with a grin. "Man, it really has been a long time if you think I'm still an O-3. You know its Major Volkov now, right?"

"No," Rabinowitz said, sounding awestruck. "Really?" Volkov nodded in confirmation. "Wow. Who in their right mind decided to promote you to O-4?"

"Wasn't exactly my choice," Volkov replied with an awkward smile. "But forget about me. Look at you! A captain? In charge of an entire infantry company? How'd that happen?"

"Oh shucks, you know, the usual methods: there was a lot of begging, a bit of crying, and there may or may not have been a couple of bribes," Rabinowitz joked.

"Shucks?" Volkov echoed with a shake of his head. "Still haven't learned those adult words, huh Rabinowitz?"

Rabinowitz shook his head guiltily. "Yeah, habit. Have to set an example for my kids."

"That's fair enough I suppose. How's your wife by the way?"

"Doing well, doing well. She's pregnant again."

"Again? She was pregnant when I last saw you. What does this make, your third?"

"Sixth, actually," Rabinowitz admitted.

"Good god," Volkov commented with a shake of his head. "Man, ONI must really love you. What are trying to do, repopulate the entire human race all by yourself?"

"Yeah yeah," Rabinowitz grumbled. "Hey, so what have you been up to these last few years? There's a lot more gray in your hair than I remember."

"Oh, thanks for the reminder," Volkov replied sarcastically. "Yeah, it's been a rough few years."

"Yeah? Anything you can tell me about?"

"Unfortunately, no. Most of it has been classified," Volkov said apologetically.

"I understand," Rabinowitz somberly replied. "Maybe you can tell me the unredacted version though."

"Yeah, maybe. Hey, what about you? You know, when I requisitioned a platoon from my old unit, I didn't realize you were still around. I thought you transferred out of the Airborne a while back."

As Rabinowitz and Volkov continued to converse, Moss awkwardly stood to the side, trying to figure out a polite way of interrupting their conversation. He hated interrupting people, especially officers, but he felt, especially with an ongoing alien invasion, time was of the essence. But after a few moments of uninterrupted dialogue, Moss realized he was just going to have to plunge right in.

"Excuse me sirs, I'm very sorry to interrupt," Moss said as apologetically as he could. "But my CO really needs us back to reinforce his position on the MLR. So, with all due respect sir," he turned to address Volkov. "If you could direct us to our objective, that would be much appreciated sir."

Moss reflexively stood straighter as Volkov turned his gaze to him.

"You Lieutenant Lancelot?" he unexpectedly asked.

Moss blinked. "No sir."

"That's Sergeant Shen," Rabinowitz reported. "One 3rd Brigade's finest combat engineering squad leaders."

"Hum," Volkov said. "Well Sergeant, I'm surprised you weren't told. You aren't returning to your unit."

That caught Moss off guard. "Excuse me sir?"

"You've been reassigned," Volkov elaborated. "You, your squad, all of you," he gestured to everyone in the room, "have been reassigned to my command. Welcome to Special Warfare Group Three, detachment Charlie."

Moss was stunned. Of all the things Moss was expecting to happen, this was not one of them. "Sir, I'll need to inform my CO."

"He's already been notified Sergeant."

"And he gave his approval sir?" Moss couldn't help but ask.

Volkov looked amused. "I don't need it Sergeant. My orders come directly from High Command."

"And what exactly are those orders Volkov?" Rabinowitz asked, jumping into the conversation. "The ones I received were somewhat vague and lacking in details."

"Yeah, sorry about that," Volkov said apologetically. "I'll admit, that's because this mission was completely unexpected and as a result, the details are still getting hashed out."

"What mission?" Rabinowitz asked.

Volkov glanced around. "Is this all your men?

"It's all that's left of my 1st Platoon," Rabinowitz explained. "They lost their platoon commander about an hour ago and while Sergeant Xanthus has my complete confidence, given the oddity of the situation, I decided I should accompany them, see exactly what I was sending my men into."

"That's fair," Volkov allowed. "So, first things first. As you may have already surmised, our objective is not in this building." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a hologram projector. He activated it, revealing a map of Byzas. "It's here," he said, pointing. As he pointed, the sector in was highlighted in yellow.

"That's behind enemy lines," Norén instantly pointed out. Moss took a closer look at the map and realized Norén was right. A cold feeling of dread began forming in the pit of his stomach. He was glad to see he wasn't the only one feeling that way. Moss noticed the concerned look Rabinowitz shot at Xanthus as he leaned in to take a closer look at the map.

"It is," Volkov confirmed. "So, here's the situation. During the battle against the Covenant fleet, one of our satellites was knocked out of orbit over the colony. The satellite quickly entered a decaying orbit but instead of disintegrating during reentry, the satellite survived, and crashed landed in the city, somewhere in the factory district. Where specifically, Command isn't sure. Due to the unexpected incident, there simply weren't any assets available that were capable of tracking the satellite's trajectory."

"Command wants us to go in and destroy it?" Rabinowitz asked. Volkov nodded. "Why? What's so important about the satellite?"

"We don't know," Volkov admitted. "Truth be told, we don't even know what satellite it is. And that's part of the problem. With so many satellites already destroyed, Command has no idea if this is even a military one. But, we're assuming a worst case scenario here."

"And what would that be sir?" Xanthus abruptly asked.

"That satellite was a military communication satellite," Volkov explained. "That it contained all manner of tactical data: encryption codes, fleet movements, supply routes, and… locations."

For some reason, the way Volkov said the word 'locations' caused a chill to pass down Moss' spine.

"Sir," Moss enquired, "What exactly do you mean by 'locations?'"

"The factories on this colony provide military vehicles to garrisons all over UNSC control space Sergeant," Volkov explained. "I'm talking about places like Skopje, Mamore, Paris IV, Reach." He hesitated and then added, "Earth."

That single word made Moss straight up.

"Earth?" Rabinowitz repeated. "You think someone would have transmitted the location of Earth even over encrypted military comms?"

"That's the problem, we don't know. We don't know what we're dealing with, so we're assuming the worse."

"If this mission is of such critical importance sir, than why us?" Xanthus asked.

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, why the Airborne sir?" Xanthus elaborated. "Why not one of your SOF units?"

"I'll be honest, I'd rather use my Ranger support for this mission," Volkov allowed. "But the nearest battalion is at least two hours away from the system, and time is of the essence. Command wants this satellite destroyed before the Covenant realizes what it is."

"Well then sir, why use a unit that's as heavily depleted as ours?" Xanthus pressed. "I mean, I've got a total of seventeen soldiers left out of the authorized forty-two I'm supposed to have. Even with Captain Rabinowitz, Doc Falco, you, and the engineers, we don't even come close to a making a full platoon. Meanwhile, the 9th Marine Expeditionary Force just arrived. Why not requisition a unit from them sir?"

"Is it not the Airborne's job to be surrounded?" Volkov slyly asked.

Rabinowitz let out a disproving _tsk_. "Come on now Volkov, you know better than that. We're Paratroopers, not Marines. We're smarter than that. It's going to take a solid plan, not some cheesy motto one-liners to motivate us."

Despite the situation, Moss couldn't help but smile at the thought of what Lieutenant Silva, the smug Marine lieutenant that had relieved him, would say to that.

"Okay, fair enough," Volkov allowed. "We don't want to use the Marines because they're needed to hold the line. The 222nd no longer has the strength or the numbers to hold back the tide. To put it simply, the colony's defense can afford to have the 222nd reallocated to different tasks. The same cannot be said for the Marines. Plus, your understrength status is actually an advantage in this case. Due to the crash site being behind enemy lines, rather than risk a direct assault, we will be infiltrating Covenant positions, which will be far easier with a smaller unit."

"How are we supposed to infiltrate the Covenant sir?" Poblede asked from next to Moss. "Damn split-lips control half the damn city."

"Which is why we're going under them."

"Under, sir?"

"Subways." Volkov hit a button and the map of the city faded away, revealing a map of the entire subway system. "Like most major cities in the UNSC, Byzas has a pretty large subway system under the city. Latest intelligence has indicated the Covenant have yet to begin infiltrating the system; we're not sure they're even aware it exist, thus making it available for our use. So, we're here." A red star sprang into existence, marking their exact location in the city. "There's a station roughly two block away from where we are that will connect us directly to the Red Line. The Red Line being the line that leads directly to the factory district," Volkov added. "We'll commandeer a train and travel the length of the Red Line until we reach here." He pointed. "Largo Station, which should be the station closest to our objective. Once we're back on the surface, we'll begin our search for the crash site."

"Question sir?" Norén said, raising her hand. "What happens of Largo Station is blocked, or inaccessible for whatever reason?"

"Then we move onto the next available station," Volkov replied with a shrug. "If that one's blocked, we move onto the next. But if _that_ one is blocked too, then we'll infiltrate the maintenance tunnels that run parallel to the main tracks. There are a number of smaller shafts that are used by the subway maintenance crews that lead directly to the surface."

"Once we're on the surface," Volkov continued, "we'll stick to the buildings and the back alleys. Our goal is to avoid detection; as Sergeant… Xanthus, right?"

"Yes sir."

"Right. As Sergeant Xanthus pointed out, we simply don't have the numbers to get embroiled in an extended firefight against Covenant patrols. Stealth and speed will be the key, at least until we find the crash site."

"And how do we do that sir?" Norén asked. "Will there be some way to tell the satellite crash site from all the other crash sites in the city already?"

"Not exactly. But, the satellite would have been moving at far faster velocities than any other vehicle that's gone down in the last few hours. Plus, it will be much smaller. So, we're going to be looking for a crater that's deeper than but not as wide as the others."

"Those are some pretty vague perimeters right there sir," Norén pointed out.

"Like I said, this is all rather sudden and very last minute," Volkov conceded, frustration evident in his voice. "I'll be the first to admit, we really don't have a solid, foolproof plan here, only parts of one. Only thing I can really say is do your best, and bring as much firepower as possible, in case we need it. Which we probably will."

Moss felt like groaning. Ever since he received his orders from Lancelot, he had been having a bad feeling about the entire situation. Now he knew it was going to be worse than he imagined; no battle plan ever survived first contact against the enemy but at least having a good solid plan gave the soldiers on the ground some vague directives when shit hit the fan. But from what Volkov was saying, they didn't even have that. Moss was going to have to figure out how to carry more weapons without detrimentally slowing himself down; from the sounds of it, he was going to need it.

"Major, so, let's say we finally find this satellite and destroy it. Then what? I assume there's an extraction plan?" Rabinowitz asked.

"We return to friendly positions the same way we arrived: through the subway tunnels," was Volkov's answer.

"Locating the crash site could take hours though," Norén pointed out. "Who's to the say the Covenant wouldn't have enter the tunnels by that point? What then sir?"

"Well then, obviously, we're going to have to try to make it passed Covenant strong points without getting detected. Whether we do so on the surface or underground will depend on the situation."

"And if we get caught sir? Then what?"

"Then," Volkov said with a sigh, "We're going to have to force our way out. Call in whatever fire support we can and fight our way back to friendly positions."

"If we can call in fire support sir, then what are we doing here? Why not just do a flyby of the area, locate the crash site, and then level the entire area with artillery?" Norén pressed. "Why bother risking our lives to even go behind enemy lines in the first place? I mean, what exactly is really going on here?"

Moss couldn't help nod in agreement with Norén, even though he couldn't approve of her border-line insubordinate tone. Still, he perked up, eager to hear what Volkov had to say to that. But instead of replying right away, Volkov was staring thoughtfully at Norén.

"Yukon, right?" he randomly asked.

"What?" Norén asked, confused by the non sequitur.

"That's where you're from," Volkov elaborated. "You're from the Yukon Region on Alluvion, aren't you?"

"Yes," Norén cautiously replied.

"I thought as much," Volkov said, nodding his head. "Your accent is a dead giveaway."

A wary expression passed over Norén's face and Moss noticed as she narrowed her eyes at Volkov. He also noticed the way her shoulders suddenly tensed, as if she was about to be attacked. Confused, Moss glanced over at Volkov, but he was wearing nothing more than a serene expression on his face. Moss quickly glanced between the two of them. There seemed to have been some sort of unspoken threat in their conversation, but what it was Moss wasn't sure. No answer was forthcoming though as Volkov promptly turned back to the hologram.

"Anyways, to answer your question Specialist," Volkov said, as if nothing happened. "Given the fact the satellite has already survived an atmospheric reentry, command is concerned that a mere artillery strike won't be enough to entirely destroy the wreckage. Hence the need for a team to go in."

That explanation sort of made sense to Moss. Even in this day in age, artillery wasn't perfect and usually, in order to achieve a direct hit against an object, it required someone to be present to either direct the shells or paint the target with a target locator. Still, he couldn't help but be disappointed. For a brief moment, Moss had allowed himself to believe they weren't going on the mission.

"For this mission, we'll be operating under the call sign '3 Charlie,'" Volkov continued to say. "Captain Rabinowitz, you know your men better than I so I'll leave it to you to determine the marching order, which we'll discuss in a moment. In the meantime, everything in this armory is available for our use. Recommend you Troopers take this moment to rearm and reload, if you need to. Remember our emphasis is on three things: speed, stealth, and firepower. Hopefully we will only need two of those three, but don't count on it. We move out in ten. Dismissed."

With the briefing ended, conversations broke out as the group separated. For his part, Moss headed straight to the ammo, fuming. He couldn't help but think the entire situation was a bunch of bullshit. While intellectually he understood the reasoning, he couldn't help but be pissed off by the fact his squad had been selected for this mission. They had already been through so much. Between Newsaka and now Actium, they had paid their fair share in blood. Moss knew, even though they were never admit it, his squad was exhausted. Wasn't it someone else's turn to fight the Covenant?

As soon as he had that thought though, Moss immediately started feeling guilty. That wasn't fair of him. Based on everything he had seen so far, it was clear to Moss that just about every military unit on the colony was heavily engaged, so it wasn't as if there was some group of soldiers just kicking it back and doing nothing while everyone else bled and died. Furthermore, a lot of these soldiers were probably conscripts, unlike Moss who had volunteered for this, over the forceful protest of his mother. What sort of man would he be if he just suddenly decided to quit when the going got tough?

Distracted as he was, it took Moss a few moments to realize Griffin was staring expectantly at him. Moss mentally reviewed the last few seconds in his mind and came to the conclusion Griffin had asked him a question, but Moss was too distracted to pay attention.

"What was that?" Moss asked.

"I said 'dude, I've never blown up a satellite before, what do you think we should bring?'"

Moss considered the question. In truth, he had never blown up a satellite either, but he figured it couldn't be all that different from destroying anything else.

"Bring thermite. A lot of thermite," Moss said, thinking out loud. "We'll melt the entire wreckage down until there's only a pool of melted metal left."

"Sweet, I get to set something on fire!"

Moss stopped Griffin before he could walk away. "Hey, do you mind hauling a bit more weight around?" Moss asked as he thought about the threats and the environment they were about to get into.

"What you got in mind dude?"

"Bring a shotgun," Moss ordered. "We're probably going to see some close quarters action and in the city, we could use a breeching shotgun. Save us from having to use too many explosives."

"Sounds good to me."

Moss and Griffin separated, with Moss heading to the table to refill his stock of munitions. Emptying his pouches of empty magazines, he grab a box of ammo and began loading up. After a few moments of consideration, Moss decided to remove his sidearm and accompanying ammo and toss it onto the table. For this mission, it was probably better to have a few more rifle magazines in lieu of a secondary weapon. Grabbing his fill, Moss started loading up on grenades when Roer brushed passed him. Moss quickly reached out and grabbed him by the shoulders before he could walk away.

"Hey Roer, I think I saw an M739 SAW on the rack over there. Why don't you go ahead and swap your Gimpy with that?" Moss started to say, only to pause at the expression on Roer's face.

"Sergeant," Roer said in an odd tone. "The Major said we were going into the factory district."

"...yes?" Moss said, not understanding what Roer was hinting at.

"My parents work in the factory district," Roer elaborated, sounding excited. "And today's a workday."

Moss instantly knew what Roer was getting at. Having had no news of his family's status yet, Roer was assuming their foray into the factory district would be his last chance to save them. Roer was asking, or rather not asking, for permission to rescue them if the opportunity arose.

The problem was, Moss knew that wasn't going to happen. There just wasn't even the possibility, even if they literally ran into Roer's parents. Their orders were explicitly clear: their job wasn't to save civilians but to engage the enemy. They would not be able to obtain permission to deviate from their mission.

Moss was pretty sure Roer knew that, so he was guessing what Roer was really asking for, wasn't for permission from their commanders. He was asking Moss directly for his help. Which left Moss in a bit of a quandary. He knew he should say no. He knew he should tell Roer that the mission came first and that all other priorities were secondary to victory. But truth be told, Moss wanted to help. He hadn't known Roer for very long but it didn't matter. Roer was one of his soldiers and as his commander, Moss needed to look out for him. And, perhaps Moss was a coward for doing so, Moss just didn't have the heart to look Roer in the eye and tell him no. So Moss told him: "Cliff, if the situation arises, we'll see what we can do."

Moss wasn't sure if that would be good enough, but Roer seemed to be satisfied. He sniffed and then nodded his head.

"Okay," he said. "Let me go get the SAW."

Moss nodded his head in agreement. But as he started to walk away, Roer suddenly called out "Sergeant?"

Moss turned around. "Yeah?"

"Thank you," Roer said sincerely.

"Don't mention it," Moss replied, feeling exorbitantly guilty. He watched as Roer wandered away before he was quickly replaced by Poblede.

"Hey, I found some suppressors," she announced.

"Nice," Moss complemented, taking the one Poblede offered him and attaching it to the end of his rifle. "These should come in handy, especially in those subway tunnels."

"Yep. That's what I was thinking," Poblede replied. "Man, how crazy is this?"

"What's that?"

"Us! I mean, we're Special Forces now. Who would have thought that would ever happen?"

"I don't think this makes us SOF Pip," Moss pointed out. "I mean, the Major did outright say he'd rather have one of his actual SOF units on this mission, but we're the only ones available. So, you know, that makes us the 'B' team. Or maybe the 'F' team, as in 'we're so fucked.'"

"Lighten up Mr. Pessimistic. With any luck, maybe it'll just be a quick in and out; no combat!"

"Then why are you bring so many damn weapons?" Moss pointed out, looking specifically at the two bandoliers of 40mm grenades Poblede was wearing, as well as all the spare mags sticking out of her pockets. "You know you only got two arms, right?"

"Maybe I like to have my options open(1)?" Poblede innocently suggested, before shaking her head. "Yeah, I know, we're not that lucky. Still, one can dream, can't they?" She suddenly paused. "You know who would have loved to be here right now?"

"Who?"

"Shin. You know, she was the one who was always interested in all this secret squirrel shit."

"She was, wasn't she?" Moss noted with a nod of his head, remembering his squadmate who'd been killed by a friendly mortar on Hill 937 back on Newsaka. "In fact, didn't she try out for the Rangers at some point?"

"Yeah! Don't you remember like a year ago when we were still in garrison back on Skopje, Shin just sort of disappeared for about a month? She was at RASP(2)! But then she broke her leg and they sent her back to the unit to recover. She was supposed to go back and try again, but then we got deployed. She was planning on trying again when we got back from Newsaka but, you know…" Poblede trailed off and awkwardly cleared her throat. "Anyways, what were you and Roer talking about?"

"What? Oh, his parents work in the factory district," Moss informed her. "He wanted to see if we'd be able to deviate from the mission to rescue them."

"He really ask you that?" Poblede asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Um, no. I was reading between the lines."

"Oh. Well, what did you say?"

"I told if it was possible, we would do our best to help," Moss admitted.

Poblede stopped what she was doing to stare at him. "Really? Why would you tell him that? You know that's going to be impossible to do, right?"

"Yeah, I know," Moss said, frustrated. "Just, didn't want to him to give up hope, you know?"

"Not sure false hope is all that better than no hope," Poblede pointed out.

"I just didn't know what to tell him."

"Should have said no."

"I know! It's just... let's say you had an opportunity to save your parents. What would you do?"

"Considering my parents died when our evacuation transport was shot out of the sky by Banshees and I only lived because they physically threw me into the last escape pod available? The only way I could have saved them was if I grew a jet engine out of my ass and shot missiles out of my mouth."

Moss paused to consider the mental image Poblede's words invoked, but quickly shook his head to prevent himself from getting sidetracked.

"Alright, fine. Your adopted parents than. Say they was in danger and needed to be rescued. What would you prefer to hear, that there's still a chance? Or that you've got to give up now without trying because there's no way to save their life?"

Poblede didn't say anything for a few moments and Moss could tell she was struggling to find an answer.

"Well, hopefully we won't run into that situation," she finally declared.

"Yeah, no kidding."

Moss finished reloading his magazines and inserted them into their proper place on his belt. He was just refilling his grenade pouches when someone tapped him on his shoulder. Moss glanced up.

"Hey Sergeant, can I talk to you for a moment?" Norén asked. She glanced at Poblede before adding, "In private?"

Shrugging, Moss gestured for Norén to lead the way. As he followed behind her, he noticed she had taken off some of her armor.

"Did you remove your pauldrons?" Moss asked. "And your blast diaper?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Shedding some weight. Between my weapons and my gear, I've already got enough stuff to carry. Any more and it's going to affect my speed and mobility, both of which, from the sounds of it, we're going to need in this upcoming mission. Besides, I never liked those things. Never had to wear those stupid things on Alluvion and we did just fine without them," Norén explained.

"You at least get permission to get rid of them?"

"Yeah. I asked Captain Rabinowitz and he said it was up to me if I wanted to remove them."

After a few moments of consideration, Moss decided to follow suit and began removing components from his armor.

"Keep the vest and your helmet so you can at least protect your vitals," Norén suggested. "I would also keep the knee pads in case you need to drop to the ground. Nothing worse than dropping to one knee to take a potshot at someone, only to realize you just threw yourself down onto a bunch of broken glass."

Moss nodded in understanding. "You wanted to talk to me about something?" Moss reminded her as he absentmindedly picked up a roll of 100mph tape(3) and between twirling it with his index finger.

"Yeah. Watch your back."

Automatically, Moss glanced behind him before he realized what Norén meant.

"Well, that kind of goes without saying," Moss commented. "But what specifically are you referring to?"

Norén jerked her head towards Volkov. "He's from the UNSC Army Special Warfare Group Three."

"So what?"

"You ever hear of the Phoenix Program(4)?"

Moss shook his head.

"It was a covert military program that was leaked to the media a couple years ago. The purpose of the program was to identify and then 'neutralize' the political and military leadership of major Insurrectionist groups," Norén explained. "The program was later expanded to include the targeting of pro-separatist movement sympathizers. The thing is, a lot of these so-called sympathizers were targeted not based on any solid evidence, but a lot of the time based on simple hunch. A lot of innocent people were murdered by this program. And you know which unit ran the program?"

"I'm guessing Army Special Warfare Group Three?" Moss suggested.

Norén nodded. "An officer from that unit? Guaranteed to have been knee deep in that program. He's probably killed more UNSC civilians in his military career than I have, if you can believe that."

"Huh," Moss commented intelligently as he glanced at Volkov. Volkov didn't seem like a killer, but then again, it wasn't as if killers wore a sign around their necks identifying who they were. "That's interesting information to know, but I got to be honest, I'm not quite sure how that pertains to me," Moss admitted.

Norén shrugged. "Just saying, there's something about this mission that the Major isn't telling us. Who knows what it is so, watch your back."

"Isn't that why I have you?" Moss glibly commented.

"You trust me to watch your back?" Norén somewhat sardonically asked.

Moss cocked his head. "Sure, why wouldn't I?"

For some reason, Norén looked startled.

"1st Platoon, on your feet!" Xanthus bellowed before Norén could reply. "We're moving out!"

He stopped next to Moss on his way out the door. "That means you too sappers."

"Copy that Sergeant," Moss replied. Abandoning the armor components he had removed on the ground, Moss grabbed his rifle and climbed to his feet. "Let's go guys, let's get this show on the road."

Following the infantry out of the door, Moss shivered as the cold air hit him. Tucking his rifle under his armpit, Moss rubbed his hands together as he waited for his squad to join him. Once they were all assembled, they turned and followed the infantry as they jogged down the street to the nearest subway station.

As Moss ran, he took the opportunity to good look at his surroundings. As a frontline combat soldier, Moss rarely found himself behind friendly lines. Even just travelling down the few blocks to the station gave him an idea of the scope of the defense of the city.

On one block, Moss saw an Air Force field hospital that had been set up inside one of the buildings. A mixture of military and civilian doctors surrounded the building while a steady stream of wounded military personnel staggered in and out of the building. Directly across the street, another building had been converted into a command post. Radio antennas and satellite dishes had been set up on the roof and a small team of Navy Master-at-Arms guarded the entrance while a mass of officers and NCOs from all military branches came and went. At the intersection down from the CP, Moss and his group were forced to stop and wait while a convoy of Marine Corps Scorpions rumbled down the street. Meanwhile, a swarm of Navy Seabees and Air Force RED HORSE engineers were reinforcing the buildings surrounding the intersection with HESCO barriers and sandbags, setting up a strong point. Further down and set up inside an empty lot, Moss discovered a section of Colonial Militia Warthog mortar carriers firing their 120mm mortars into the distance. Nearby, a couple of Provincial Militia M71 "Scythe" anti-aircraft guns, surrounded by a massive pile of 20mm brass casings, were getting their guns reloaded and their barrels replaced. Further down still inside another empty lot, a couple of Armadillo IFVs from the 53rd Armored were getting their tracks replaced by a couple of mechanics while their crews were sitting around, having a meal and just resting in general.

As the group jogged passed them, Moss couldn't help but stare enviously at them. He should have joined an armored division instead of the Airborne. How much more relaxing would that life have been? Riding into combat instead of walking everywhere, sitting inside a metal box that provided protection from both enemy fire and the environment, and having enough firepower to level an entire city block? That would have been the life. Plus, he doubted they would ever get selected for a mission behind enemy lines.

Moss could only shake his head in regret though as he jogged passed.

It didn't take long to reach the subway station. As they drew near, they were forced to step aside as a horde of civilians came swarming up the escalator and out into the open. Urged on by several Army military police officers, the civilians were herded onto a city bus sitting idly nearby, which quickly took off in the direction of the nearest evacuation center. Moss glanced at Roer who again shook his head. His family wasn't part of this group, nor did he recognize anyone in the mass. Moss couldn't help but mentally sigh. He would never say it out loud but he was beginning to suspect Roer's family was already dead.

As soon as the horde cleared, Major Volkov gestured for them to descend into the station, but before they could take more than a few steps down the escalator, the MPs stopped them.

"Hey wait!" the leader, a simple buck sergeant, shouted. "You guys can't go down there!"

Volkov turned to him. "Major Volkov," he said simply. "Who are you again?"

The MP stopped short and snapped off a salute. "Sergeant Tariq sir, 127th Military Police Battalion!"

"Sergeant, I've got an operation that requires me to enter this station," Volkov reported but Tariq shook his head.

"Sorry sir, my CO told me not to allow anyone entrance."

"Why not?"

"We're about to blow up the tunnels."

"What? Why?" Rabinowitz demanded to know as Moss exchanged a glance with Poblede. Part of him couldn't help but feel relieved. Perhaps the mission would be called out? The other part of Moss was worried. If they couldn't sneak their way through Covenant positions, chances were they would have to fight their way through

"Uh, that I'm not too sure sir."

"Who's your CO?" Volkov asked.

"That would be Lieutenant Acevedo sir. He's down in the station."

"Let me talk to him," Volkov ordered.

Tariq looked like he was going to protest, but a glare from Volkov shut him up. He shrugged and said, "Follow me sir."

He led them down the escalator to the turnstiles where two soldiers were talking to each other.

"Do a proper headcount," one of the soldiers was saying as they approached. "I don't want to accidently leave anyone down here before the bomb goes off."

"Yes sir!" the other soldier yelled before running down further into the station.

"Lieutenant Acevedo!" Tariq called out and the remaining soldier turned around.

"Who the hell are you guys?" Acevedo blurted out once he caught sight of Moss and his group approaching them. Volkov stepped forward.

"I'm Major Volkov," he announced. "Lieutenant, I have an operation that requires me to travel through these subway tunnels."

"I'm sorry sir but you can't do that," Acevedo instantly said. "We're about five minutes away from blowing up the tunnels."

"Yes, your Sergeant said as much," Volkov drily said. "Why is that?"

"Drones sir," Acevedo replied. "Covenant Drones are beginning to make their way down into the tunnels. Command is worried about them reemerging behind our defensive line and outflanking us. They've ordered the collapse of the entire subway system."

Moss looked up sharply at that. He had fought against a swarm of Drone on Newsaka. Fragile and easily driven off by rifle fire, Drones were nevertheless small, nimble, and capable of short distance flight, making them hard to hit. Plus, they were creepy as hell, being bug-like aliens. It was disturbing enough engaging them out in the open. Encountering them in a dark enclosed space? Moss could feel his skin crawl just at the thought of it.

"The entire system Lieutenant?" Rabinowitz repeated.

"Well, as much of the system as we can possibly reach," Acevedo amended.

"How are you planning on doing that?"

"That, I am not sure sir. You would need to talk to the techs."

"Where are they?"

"Further down in the station, by the tracks."

"Take us to them," Volkov ordered.

An annoyed look passed over Acevedo's face but he nonetheless obeyed without question. He led the group further into the station, to the boarding platform. There, sitting idly on the tracks, was a subway train consisting of three cars. A small team of Army construction engineers were working on reinforcing the cars, replacing the aluminum siding with composite armored plates as well as bolting either metal plates or slat armor over all the windows. There didn't seem to be a pattern as to which window received a metal plate and which received some slat armor. On the boarding platform itself, machine gun nests had been set up. Manned by more military police officers, their weapons were pointed down both ends of the tunnels, presumably to defend the station from possible Drone intrusion. Acevedo walked up to one of them and grabbed him by the shoulder.

"Where are the EOD techs?"

"Middle car sir."

Rabinowitz gestured for Xanthus and Moss to join him and Volkov by the car, before gesturing for everyone else to stay on the platform. They walked over to the middle car and peaked through the open doors. Inside, all passenger benches, stanchions, handrails and grab handles had been ripped out and removed. Like the other two cars, the walls of the train had been reinforced with composite armor and about half the windows had been completely covered with metal plates, while the remaining half were protected by slat armor. However, what really caught Moss' attention was the massive bomb sitting on the floor of the car. The cylindrical explosive device was roughly two and a half meters long and perhaps thirty five centimeters in diameter. Overall, the bomb looked like one of the cluster munitions he had seen the Air Force drop in the past. Moss couldn't even begin to guess just how many kilograms worth of explosives was packed into the bomb but he was willing to bet it was a lot. Surrounding the bomb were three EOD techs installing what looked to be a mechanical timer detonator.

"Sergeant Krios!" Acevedo barked and one of the technicians, the only female of the trio, let out a very loud sigh.

"Lieutenant," she began in what sounded like a deliberately calm voice, barely looked up from the manual detonator she was handling. "Unless you want your molecules to be scattered across the entire surface of this colony, I suggest you do _not_ distract me for the next fifteen seconds."

Moss could see Acevedo's face begin to turn red, but he nonetheless kept his mouth shut. The entire group stood there in complete silence as Krios very carefully held the trigger while the other two techs finished wiring it directly to the bomb. After they were finished, Krios very slowly laid the detonator on the body of the bomb.

"Shiny, Oxford, secure that," Krios ordered the other two techs before turning her attention to Acevedo. "What do you want sir?"

Acevedo opened his mouth and looked as if he was about to launch into a long tirade, but Volkov immediately silenced him with a look.

"Thank you Lieutenant, that will be all," Volkov said.

Acevedo looked as if he was about to protest, but then shut his mouth and stormed away. Volkov turned back to Krios.

"Major Volkov, Special Warfare Group Three," he announced.

"Good for you sir," Krios said, sounding completely unimpressed as she pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

"You the tech in charge here?"

"Yeah. That's me."

Volkov gestured at the bomb sitting on the ground. "That the bomb?"

"Well, it's got a digital timer on it and wires sticking out of it. So it's either a bomb or a fucking time machine sir."

Moss couldn't stop the started laugh that escaped from his mouth, one that he quickly tried to disguise as a cough when Rabinowitz glanced at him disapprovingly. For his part, Volkov himself looked rather amused by her response.

"Okay, that's fair," he said. "I've been informed you're the person who knows everything about this plan to blow up the subway system. I've got an OP that requires me passage through these tunnels, so I need to know more about the situation. Are you planning on detonating the bomb off in this station?"

Krios snorted. "If we were sir, would the engineers be going through the trouble of armoring up the train? No, this station isn't big enough to achieve the effect we want, with it servicing only one line and all that. Plus, as it turns out, blowing up a tunnel under your own defensive line isn't very conducive for a good defense. Go figure," she drily added.

"So where are you planning on detonating the bomb?"

Krios pointed down one of the tunnels. "In that direction, maybe seven stations down, is Gaius Maecenas Center station. It's a junction station; five different service lines feed through there. More bang for our buck. So to speak."

"So, you're just planning on driving this train down to that station, and then detonating?"

Krios laughed. "Were it so easy. No sir, apparently there's a shit ton of Covenant Drones between us and the station we need to get to. So, what's going to happen is the city superintendent is going to drive the train to the station while a squad of MPs protect the bomb from the Covenant. They get to their location, trigger the timer, detach the car, and then get the fuck out of dodge. Bomb goes boom, tunnels collapse, and then we get to all go home safe and sound. Or, something like that."

Volkov looked thoughtful and Moss could almost see what he was planning. "Okay, thank you Sergeant."

"Yeah, no problem sir. Hey, Shiny! Where the fuck are my detonation codes!" Krios yelled as she walked away.

Volkov gestured for the group to exit the train car. As soon as they reassembled on the platform, he immediately turned to Rabinowitz. "You can probably guess what I'm thinking so let me ask you this: thoughts? Opinions?"

"It almost sounds like a suicide mission," Rabinowitz admitted. "Having said that though, it does also sound like our best chance at making it behind enemy lines."

"We still have the option of returning to the surface and attempting to infiltrate through Covenant lines that way instead," Volkov pointed out.

Rabinowitz shook his head. "No, I rather avoid that if possible. There's not enough cover up there and if we get compromised, the Covenant would be able to bring their fire support to bear faster than we could. At least here, fields of fire are more limited. Plus, Caesar Center is about a good two or three klicks away from our destination. We're going to end up on the surface one way or another and I'd rather limit our exposure as much as possible."

Volkov nodded before turning to Xanthus. "Sergeant? Thoughts?"

"I think Captain Rabinowitz has said it all already sir," Xanthus replied. "It's our best option. The deck is stacked in our favor down here. Despite traveling down in what is literally is a fatal funnel, we'd at least be in a fast moving armored train while the Drones will be on foot and out in the open. On the surface? It would be us that would get fucked."

"Sergeant Shen?" Volkov asked.

"The only concern I have at the moment sir, is, what if we take an EMP?" Moss said, thinking about the Pelican ride he had taken a few hours ago. "One plasma pistol overcharge, and we'll be a sitting duck."

Xanthus shook his head. "Nah man, this is a maglev train. Electrical power is in the guideway, not the train. Only power in the trains are used for the lights, heater and AC, and the doors. Drones would have to take out the entire electrical grid to stop us. Though, I should point out sir, with all the added extra weight from the armor, we're probably not going to be moving as fast as we should be."

"Noted," Volkov said as he tapped a few buttons on his TACPAD. A display of the subway system sprang into existence. "So here's Caesar Center Station. There looks like there's a maintenance access shaft that leads directly up to the surface about two hundred meters before the station proper. We'll exit the train, arm the timer and the remote detonator, and then immediate start making our way to the surface. Meanwhile, we'll have the city superintendent pilot the train the rest of the way to the station. Once we're all clear, we detonate the bomb. Timer will be for just in case we all get killed, the bomb will still go off, thus allowing us to at least accomplish that mission. Sound good?"

"Aside from the dying part, yes sir," Moss pointed out.

"Well, that goes without saying we'll do our very best to avoid that part."

"Sir, how do we want to stack the train?" Xanthus asked.

"Captain Rabinowitz? That's your prerogative."

"Well, there's three cars," Rabinowitz pointed out. "So let's divide up into three teams. We'll have the sappers in the middle car protecting the bomb. Major Volkov, I think you should take one of our rifle squads and sit in the front car. I think the train will be heavy enough and moving fast enough to act like a battering ram, which should knock everything out of our way, so I think your main focus should be to make sure the Drones don't try to blow the tracks before we cross them. Sergeant Xanthus, we'll take what's left of your platoon, including your last machine gun team, position ourselves in the last car to discourage the Drones from perusing."

"Sounds like a plan," Volkov commented. "Anyone have any questions? Comments? Anything they'd like to add?"

Moss shook his head. Everything seemed pretty straight forward. At that was left was to wait for the other shoe to drop.

"Sergeant Shen, interface with the techs and find out everything you need to know about how to detonate the bomb and more importantly, how to protect it. Sergeant Xanthus, go brief your men. Captain Rabinowitz, you and I are going to find the MP squad that's supposed to ride this train and inform them of the updated plans, then we're going to beg, borrow, or steal whatever weapons we can from them. Sergeant Krios!"

Sergeant Krios poked her out from the train, a poorly concealed look of exasperation on her face. "Yes sir?"

"It's Lieutenant Acevedo's squad of MPs that are supposed to riding this train, is it not?"

"You see any other squads of MPs around here sir?" Krios snapped before visibly restraining herself. "Sorry sir. Yes, Lieutenant Acevedo's men are riding this train to Caesar Station."

"Not any more they're not. Sergeant Krios, I want you to brief Sergeant Shen here. Tell him _everything_ about how to set this bomb off and more importantly, what to do to protect it."

Krios looked puzzled for a moment before shrugging. "Yeah, sure sir, why the hell not?"

"Get to it Sergeant," Volkov ordered.

"Yes sir," Moss replied, gesturing for his squad to join him. Poblede promptly walked up to him.

"What's up Moss? What's going on?" she asked.

"Oh, you're going to love this," Moss sarcastically replied. "We get to ride this crazy train about three kilometers through enemy controlled tunnels to another station. And then once we get to that station, we're going to set off a very large bomb. We're about to get briefed by EOD on how to not blow ourselves up too early."

"Yay?"

Moss scoffed as he entered the train car. Krios was standing behind the bomb, waiting for them.

"This everyone?" she asked and Moss nodded. "Okay, let's get started then. Are you familiar with the Air Force's BLU-327/C fuel-air bomb?"

Moss shook his head.

"I've never even heard of them," Griffin cheerfully reported.

"Okay then. The BLU-327/C is the Air Force's designation for the fuel-air bombs in their arsenal, which is a type of thermobaric weapon. As you probably already know, fuel-air explosives work by dispersing an aerosol cloud, which in this case is a type of nano-fuel called aluminum-molybdenum oxide, over the target area, forming a concentrated explosive vapor cloud. Said vapor cloud is then ignited by an embedded detonator, which in this case is just your standard Mark 399 Mod 5 mechanical time fuze, which causes a massive exothermic reaction, capable of generating temperatures in excess of 3000 degrees Celsius, as well as propagating a blast overpressure wave over a far greater area than that of a standard GPB. Furthermore, as the gases cool and overpressure wave rapidly subsides, it generally causes a rarefaction effect. Which, clearly, in this case, will be of extreme use."

"Now," Krios continued. "Obviously, the effective yield of the bomb is dependent on the maximum dispersion of the nano-fuel. In a confined underground tunnel system such as this one, dispersion is not as easily achieved as say, an airburst over the target area. Hence, the need for a larger station. A larger station requires more ventilation which in turn means more air flow. A large station also has the added benefit of allowing us to eliminate multiple subway lines, as opposed to just the one. That being said, it will still take some time for the aerosol to disperse in order to achieve the desired effect, which is why EOD had to go in and modify the Mark 399 fuze so that we could delay the detonation by a few extra milliseconds which…"

Krios trailed off as she finally registered the blank stares Moss and his squad were giving her.

"You guys have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?" she asked.

"Not really, no," Moss confessed.

Krios let out a loud sigh. Reaching up, she pulled a cigarette she had stashed behind her ear, lighting it up and taking a quick drag from it. With her free hand, she pinched the bridge of her nose.

"I'm talking to Castles(5), not Crabs(6)," Moss heard her mutter.

"Okay," she finally said. "Let me see if I can't Barney(7) this up for you guys. This," she pointed at the BLU-327, "is a big fucking bomb."

"Really?" Poblede instantly snapped. "And here I was, thinking it was a fucking time machine."

Moss did his best to hide his smile at the expression on Krios' face as her words were inadvertently thrown back in her face.

"So that's how it feels," Krios commented after a moment before shaking her head. "Alright, fine. Here's what you actually need to know. We've gone ahead and installed three separate triggers on the bomb, any one of which will cause the bomb to go off: we've installed a timer detonator so you can give yourselves enough time to clear the blast radius, a remote detonator so you can trigger the bomb the moment you're clear instead of waiting for the countdown to end, and finally a manual detonation button. I call it the 'oh fuck we're about to die' trigger. The idea being, if you're about to get overrun, you can go ahead and detonate the bomb and at least take some of the SOBs with you."

Moss unconsciously shivered at that thought, but couldn't deny that was a good idea.

"We've gone ahead and made some modifications to the bomb. Whatever you fucking do, don't try to open any of the fucking panels. We've modified it to be tamper proof. Open the wrong panel, pulled out the wrong bolt, or cut a wire? Boom, the bomb goes off. We've also installed some armor plating so that it doesn't blow up right away if it gets hit by enemy fire, though it _will_ detonate if exposed to concentrated fire. The plating also had the added benefit of protecting the bomb's electrical system from EMPs or magnetic interface from the train itself. Let me show you how to arm the device."

Moss followed her as she walked around to the other side of the bomb. Installed onto the side was the front panel from an M168 demolition charge.

"You're familiar with one of these, yes?"

"Yeah, I am," Moss replied.

"Good. Then I don't have to explain to you how it works. Detonation code is 1812. Here's the wireless card."

"Detonation code is 1812," Moss repeated as he quickly made a note in his TACPAD.

As he did, there was a knock on the door and Rabinowitz poked his head through.

"Hey Sergeant, have you gotten what you need?" he asked

"Yes sir," Moss replied, raising his TACPAD in demonstration.

"That's good. Be advised, we're moving out shortly." He glanced at Krios and her team. "Are you techs planning on tagging along? We could always use the extra help."

"No thanks sir," Krios announced. "I think we've had enough fun for today."

Removing a couple rifle magazines from her belt, she turned to Moss and handed them over. "Good luck dude."

"Thanks, you too," Moss replied sincerely as he pocketed the ammo.

"Hey Sergeant? Make sure you're on channel three," Rabinowitz ordered as the techs exited the train. "You guys are Car-2. Major Volkov is in Car-1, I'm in Car-3. Doc Falco will be riding in the rear with me but he'll still be able to make his way around via the interior car doors so if you need him, just call."

"Copy that sir."

Rabinowitz started to left but then quickly poked his head back in. "One last thing. We're turning off all the lights on the train. It's going to be pitch black in the tunnels and while Drones can see better in the dark than we can, I'd rather not give them a massive beacon to shoot at. So switch over to thermals or NVGs."

Moss nodded in acknowledgement and tapped his goggles, glad he had a suppressor that would hide his muzzle flash entirely.

Rabinowitz disappeared and a few moments later, there was a loud chime from the intercom over his head.

" _Doors closing,"_ an electronic, female voice reported and with a gentle hiss, all the doors to the train slid shut.

Moss looked around. "Pip, you Griffin and Norén cover the left windows," he ordered, gesturing to the side the platform was on. "Roer and I will cover the right."

"Sounds like a plan."

Moss walked over to a window that was covered with slat armor and glanced through it. Someone had thoughtfully cut a hole through the Plexiglas, large enough for him to stick the barrel of his rifle through, which he did. Moss began to check his fields of fire but as he glanced down, he noticed the empty track next to him seemed to be moving. At first he thought it was his imagination, but after his eyes adapted to the dim light, he realized what it was: rats. Or rather, this world's equivalent to rats. An entire river of them were flowing passed the station, fleeing in the exact opposite direction the Covenant Drones were reported to be.

Moss snorted. Things must be really bad if even the rats were fleeing. He went ahead and switched off the digital ammo counter on his rifle to prevent any potential light spillage.

" _Radio check,"_ Moss heard Volkov say over the radio. Moss grabbed his mic.

"This is two, check."

" _Car-3, we copy,"_ Rabinowitz reported.

" _All cars copy. Be advised, we're pulling away from the station now. Train will be going dark momentarily. Switch off all sources of light now. Watch your sectors and conserved your ammo; remember, we're just passing through. Our goal is not to kill every single Drone, so don't just shoot everything you see; prioritize targets. Good luck. One, out."_

The train suddenly jerked as it began to pull out of the station, forcing Moss to grab hold of the window least he fall over. At the same time, all the lights switched off, plunging the car into darkness.

"Yes," Moss muttered out loud as he activated his thermals. "Let's go down the dark creepy tunnel in the middle of an alien invasion because, you know, what could ever go wrong with that?"

Across from him, Moss could hear Poblede laugh. "Yeah, it's like no one in command ever saw a decent sci-fi horror film."

Moss grinned in her direction, even though he knew she wouldn't be able to make it out. All conversations ceased as the train began picking up speed, and the howl of the wind rushing by drowned out all over noises.

Moss stood by his post, bobbing with the movement of the train, his rifle loosely gripped in his hands, waiting. He had no idea how far away the Drones were, so he had no idea how long it was before initial contact. He figured it wouldn't be that much longer: maglev trains were extremely fast, able to circle the entire city in less than an hour at top speeds. This particular train wouldn't be able to achieve those speeds, weight down by all the extra armor, but still, it won't take long.

Moss glanced up as the train approached the next station. The platform was lit up like a Christmas tree, the light partially blinding Moss, and he quickly raised his hand to shield his eyes. As their train whipped passed the station without stopping or slowing down, Moss glanced at the platform. Moving as fast as they were, Moss wasn't a hundred percent sure of what he saw, but he was pretty sure he caught a glimpse of several human bodies sprayed on the ground, as well as a few Drones checking them over. The Drones had to have seen and heard the train pass, and Moss was sure they were reporting in to their superiors right now. If the Drones were smart, they would be prepping their defenses.

Moss checked his weapons. His rifle was ready, set to condition zero, ready for immediate usage. Various grenades were strapped over his body, though Moss was reluctant to use them. In these confined spaces, grenades would be as dangerous to his squad as it would be for the Drones. Finally, the covers on his magazine pouches had been removed, allowed for unimpeded access to reloads. Moss was about as ready as he would ever be.

There was a loud _CRASH_ from the front, and the entire train shook.

" _This is 1. We just smashed through what appears to be the outer wall to a Covenant Drone hive. Train is intact, thirty seconds to contact,"_ Volkov calmly reported over the radio.

Over the howl of the wind, the angry screeching of insects could be heard, as well as the sound of wings as several dozen Drones took flight.

"Here we go guys!" Griffin gleefully announced. "This is where the fun begins!"

Gunfire exploded from the front of the train.

" _Contact!"_ Volkov barked.

Even as he said that, a plasma bolt splattered against Moss window, leaving a nasty burn mark and the smell of melted plastic in the air. The sudden impact also caused Moss to jump and he unintentionally fired a round out the window, which shattered against the tunnel wall, throwing chunks of masonry through the air. The shot caused an entire group of Drones to rise up from the darkness. Moss promptly doubled down and began firing in earnest. Around him, everyone else followed suit.

As he started shooting, Moss could already tell this was going to be one of the more difficult firefights he'd ever been in. Positioned on the inside on an armored vehicle, Moss was well protected from enemy fire, but he found it was extremely difficult for pinpoint accuracy. He targeted a Drone and fired on it, but the train was moving too fast for Moss to tell if he hit it. He aimed at another Drone but just as he was about to fire, the Drone flew straight up into the air, and then to the left. Moss tried to track it, but by that time he did, the train had driven passed and the Drone was swallowed up by the darkness.

Undeterred, Moss targeted another Drone but as he fired, a second Drone flew into his line of fire. Moss' rounds shredded the second Drone, and he quickly moved to re-engage the first Drone but that one was gone. Whether the Drone had been killed or had simply left the scene, Moss wasn't sure.

Another plasma bolt splattered against the window and Moss noticed a Drone flying straight at him. Moss took aim but just he pulled the trigger, his rifle jerked down and he ended up discharging his weapon into the ground. Moss tugged at his rifle, but it wouldn't budge. He glanced outside the window and was startled to see a Drone, clinging to the side of the train, had grabbed a hold of the muzzle of his rifle and was preventing Moss from maneuvering. Moss jerked his rifle a few times, but the Drone stubbornly refused to let go, viciously tugging back every time Moss pulled. Moss yanked on his rifle one more time, but as the Drone pulled back, Moss abruptly let go. Startled by the sudden lack of resistance, the Drone founded he had pulled the rifle down so the end of the muzzle was pointed directly at his face. But before he could release the weapon, Moss seized the pistol grip and pulled the trigger. The Drone's head exploded, spraying Moss' window with some nasty looking green goo.

Feeling slightly sickened at the sight, Moss quickly sought to engage another target, but he found he just had a hard time tracking anything. Part of the problem was the speed at which the train was moving: by the time Moss had a bead on an enemy combatant, the train would have already sped by and Moss would lose his target and have to find another. The other part of the problem was Moss was just having a hard time seeing the Drones. For whatever reason, the Drones weren't showing up very clearly in his thermal optics, only showing up as purple blobs which made it really difficult to pick them out from the dark background. Moss wondered if the Drones' exoskeleton was somehow masking their thermal signature, or perhaps it was the fact that it was so cold and the insect-like aliens didn't have an internal circulatory system like humans did which result in a general lack of body heat for his thermals to pick up on.

Whatever the case, it quickly got to the point where Moss simply disabled his thermals, finding it easier to track targets by the green glows of their plasma pistols. Disabling his optics also had the unexpected benefit of forcing Moss to not be so damn selective of his targets as he was finally able to realize just how many Drones were attacking them. He emptied his rifle out the window and judging by the green glows, Moss had down four or five Drones right off the bat, which meant in the half second it took for him to empty his weapon, he had gotten more kills than in the last five minutes he had of careful aiming.

As he quickly reloaded, a light ahead caught his eye and Moss realized they were approaching another station. Lining the platform were dozens of Covenant soldiers, weapons primed. Switching over to full auto, Moss held down the trigger as the train roared by the boarding platform. Tracer rounds indicated he wasn't the only one firing on the station; Moss glanced over to see Roer unload an entire hundred round belt from his SAW onto the boarding platform. Tiles shattered and cinder blocks exploded as the rounds punched through the waiting Covenant and into the back wall. Moss could see electricity arcing as his rounds severed a high voltage electrical cable and just before all the station lights died, Moss could see numerous Covenant bodies collapsing to the floor. The train quickly rounded the bend and the station disappeared from sight. As Moss reloaded, he couldn't help but feel like he was one of the gangsters from the movies, conducting a drive-by shooting of his rivals.

" _Medic!"_ Volkov suddenly called, his voice calm but with a sense of urgency. _"This is Car-1, we need a medic up here!"_

" _Doc is on the way,"_ Rabinowitz reported.

There was a howl of wind, sounding very much like a hurricane, as the back door to Moss' car slid open. Moss glanced back to see Falco shutting the door behind him, silencing the noise.

"Hey Doc!" Moss called out.

"What's up Sergeant?" Falco called back as he made his way through the car, sliding passed the bomb.

"Hey, how's it looking back there?"

"Oh it's a fucking mess Sergeant. I'm getting feeling the Covenant really don't want us down here," Falco replied without a hint of sarcasm.

"Fuck, I don't want to be down here!" Poblede yelled.

Most of her words were lost in the howling of wind as Falco opened the door to the next car. "Stay strong guys!" he screamed and shut the door behind him.

In response, Moss fired another burst out the window.

The sound of something scratching metal suddenly filled the air and it took Moss a few moments to pinpoint the source: it was coming from the roof. Moss quickly worked out what had happened: a couple of Drones had probably landed on the roof and were currently crawling around doing who knew what. Yanking his rifle from the window, Moss switched over to full auto and quickly fired a spread across the roof.

The scratching abruptly ended and Moss lowered his weapon, thinking that was the end of it, when the sound of screeching metal filled the air. Alarmed, Moss looked up to see a Drone had wedged his claws into one of the bullet holes in the roof and was beginning to tear the metal apart, forming a hole right over the bomb. Shocked, Moss could only stand there watching as the hole grew larger and larger. He hadn't realized Drones were strong enough to tear through ceramic armor but as he stood there gapping, Moss realized it wasn't so much as the Drones being strong as it was there was a notable flaw in the defense of the train: the construction engineers that had armored up the train had forgotten to reinforce the roof and evidently no one had noticed before now.

"Contact on the roof!" Moss screamed, finally gathering enough presence of mind to warn his squad as the Drone finished forming a hole large enough for him to fit through.

The Drone started to force its hulking form through the newly developed entrance, but the hole wasn't quite large enough for it to fit and the Drone was momentarily stuck. The delay was fortunate as it gave Roer enough time to remove his SAW from the window and point it upwards. He open fired, tearing the Drone in half as Moss winced and reflexively slapped a hand over his ear. Despite his hearing protection, in the confines of the car, the roar from Roer's SAW was almost enough to blow out his eardrums. His ears ringing, Moss adjusted the settings on his helmet.

"Griffin, get a grenade up there, clear the roof!" Moss ordered.

Abandoning his position, Griffin removed a fragmentation grenade from his belt and thumbed the safety lever. Slamming the grenade against the bomb to prime it, he tossed it straight up, through the hole. The roof sagged inwards as the grenade exploded, and Griffin whipped out his shotgun and put a couple of buckshot through the roof for good measure.

" _1, this is 3. We're going swarmed here. How close are we to the objective, over?"_ he heard Rabinowitz call over the radio.

" _Close,"_ was Volkov's blunt reply. _"But we're never going to get off this train with this many Drones."_

" _We're going to need a distraction,"_ Rabinowitz agreed.

" _I concur. Any suggestions?"_

Moss was in the middle of racking his brain for an idea when Roer suddenly gasped.

"Hey Sergeant! I have a Claymore we could use as a distraction!" Roer excitedly declared.

"The hell you bring a Claymore for?" Moss demanded to know as he reloaded his rifle. The M28 'Claymore' was a command detonated directional anti-personnel mine most effective when used against concentrated groups of enemy infantry. As such, it was generally used in defensive operations or ambushes, not the rapid, fast paced urban warfare they had been expecting. If Moss had known Roer was carrying Claymores, he would have made him drop them from something a bit more versatile.

"It's from the ship," Roer excitedly reported. "I just never had a chance to use it. But we could use it now!"

Between rifle bursts, Moss quickly thought it over and realized Roer was right.

"1, this is 2," Moss barked into his radio. "Be advised, I have a Claymore, over."

" _That's not going to help us very much 2,"_ Volkov replied. _"Claymores are unidirectional; unless we can detonate the mine in the middle of the swarm, we're not going to be able to eliminate enough of them to make a difference, over."_

" _1, this is 3,"_ Xanthus suddenly interjected. _"What if we detached the third car? The sudden loss of acceleration will end up putting the car right in the middle of the swarm, putting it in a position to cause the maximum amount of damage. Might not buy us that much time, but a couple of seconds is all we really need, over."_

There was a brief pause. _"Do it,"_ Volkov ordered.

"Pip, cover the left! Roer, with me!" Moss howled, removing his rifle from the window. Running to the back, Moss wretched open the door -

\- and immediately came face to face with a Drone Ultra. The Drone reared back on its hind legs, rising to its full height of two meters. The howl of the whipping wind wasn't loud enough to mask the bone curling shriek the Drone let out and Moss instinctually screamed back. But before either of them could do anything,

 _BAMBAMBAM!_

Moss was showered with green goo and chunks of exoskeleton as the Drone was shot several times from behind. The Drone toppled off the train, revealing Xanthus standing there with a smoking assault rifle.

"Hurry the fuck up!" he demanded and Moss wiped his face off as he crossed into the other car.

Inside, Rabinowitz was having roughly half his men tear the armored plating off the walls while the other half covered them. Upon seeing Moss, Rabinowitz summarily turned to his men. "Squad, that's good enough! Sergeant Xanthus, police up your men! Demirci, with me, we're covering the sappers. The rest of you, fall back into car two!"

"Arm the Claymore and put in a radio detonator," Moss ordered. He waited impatiently as Roer frantically removed the safety cap and shove the blasting cap down the fuze well before handing it over to Moss.

Scanning the detonation frequency into his TACPAD and arming it, Moss set the Claymore on the ground facing straight up before taping it in place with two strips of tape.

"Hurry the fuck up you pricks! I didn't fucking sign up to be bug bait!" Demirci screamed as he fired his SAW out the window.

"We're set here!" Moss announced. There was a loud _CRASH_ as one of the windows burst open and a Drone began clawing its way into the car. Rabinowitz casually shot it.

"Fall back," he ordered.

Moss waited until he was the last one before jumping across. Crouched in the doorway leading to the next car was Xanthus, who was busy trying to figure out the locking mechanism that kept the two cars together.

"How the fuck does this fucking thing work?" he yelled in frustration. Moss tapped his shoulder.

"Move!"

Pulling out a thermite grenade, Moss slapped it against the side of the lock and tapped it in place. Then he armed the grenade.

"Thermite out," Moss warned as smacked the grenade hard enough to activate the time-delay fuze. He was forced to cover his eyes as the grenade ignited in a blinding white flash. The thermite quickly made short work of the thin metal keeping the two cars connected and there was a loud _SNAP_ as car three broke free. The motion caused Moss to lose his balance and he nearly fell out of the train but Xanthus quickly caught him.

Moss watched as the car jerk away and slammed into the swarm of Drones chasing after them before it quickly disappeared from view. Turning to his TACPAD, Moss thumbed the detonation button.

 _KABOOM!_

The bellow of the explosion echoed through the entire tunnel. The train was already too far away for Moss and others to feel the shockwave of the explosion, but the blast was deafening. In the darkness, it was hard for Moss to determine the exact effects the Claymore had on the swarm even when he switched his thermals back on, but he had to surmise it was pretty extensive as almost instantaneously, the remaining Drones attacking the train abruptly retreated. It took a few moments for his unit to figure that out but soon, the thunder of gunfire faded away, leaving only the sound of wind rushing by.

"Well, that worked far better than we could have ever hoped for," Xanthus commented.

Moss was shaken out of his reverie by Rabinowitz.

"We're getting close," Rabinowitz yelled into his ear. "I need you to arm the bomb."

Moss nodded but as Rabinowitz began to steer him through the car towards the control panel, Moss could feel the train begin to rapidly deaccelerate. He grabbed the wall to keep himself steady as the train came to a halt.

"Everybody out!" Rabinowitz ordered. "Xanthus, set up rear security and secure our exit! Sergeant Shen, arm the bomb."

Everyone began spilling out of the train as Moss dashed over to the bomb. Dropping to his knees in front of the control panel, he quickly typed in the authorization code before rotating the level to the "arm" position. Once that was in place, he began setting the timer.

"Sir, how long should I set the timer to?" Moss called out.

"Make it fifteen minutes," Rabinowitz ordered. "Any shorter and we won't make it clear of the blast radius. Any longer, the Drones will probably be able to disable the bomb."

Nodding, Moss did as he was told. As soon as he hit "enter," the bomb let out a loud _beep_ while at the same time, the screen flashed and then a digital timer sprang into existence in Moss' HUD.

Grabbing his rifle, Moss glanced around the car to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything important, and then hoped out of the train. He did a quick headcount to make sure his squad was present and accounted for, before turning to Rabinowitz.

"We're set sir," Moss reported.

"Xanthus, sitrep?"

"All personnel present and account for sir!"

"Major Volkov," Rabinowitz called into his radio, "We're all set. Take it away."

" _Copy."_

From inside the train, there was a loud chime and the doors slide shut. Moss watched as the train silently sped away into the darkness, somewhat relieved that was over with, but realizing the mission had just begun. He was soon distracted though, by the sound of hundreds of wings in the distance.

"Drones are incoming!" Demirci reported. "And they are pissed!"

"We've got to get out of here," Rabinowitz announced. "Sergeant Shen, on me!"

They jogged over to the maintenance access shaft that would lead them to the surface, only to see the entrance was blocked by a door. Volkov was there watching as Norén and Poblede worked on attaching a small amount of explosives to the door.

"What's up?" Moss asked as he joined Roer.

"Door's locked," Roer reported, "And no one has a key. So I guess we got to blow it apart."

Behind them, automatic weapons fire rang out and turned back to see Xanthus and his men firing at an entire mass of Drones charging down the tunnel.

"Well, they better hurry the fuck up!" Moss yelled as he brushed passed Volkov to see if he could help speed the process up. There was no need though because as he drew near, Norén had already placed a blasting cap into the charge and was quickly back away.

Finding a nook in the wall, Moss ducked into it as Norén called out "Fire in the hole" before thumbing the detonator.

 _BANG! CLANK!_

The door clattered to the ground and Moss sprung to his feet and peaked through the doorway, rifle at the ready. The only thing he saw a long staircase leading straight up.

"Griffin, on point!" Moss barked. "Everyone else will follow!"

Unslinging his shotgun, Griffin mounted the stairs with Moss following close behind. Encountering no enemies on the way up, they quickly made their way up to the top. On the top platform, their way was blocked by another locked door but Griffin loaded a few breaching shells into his shotgun and blew the hinges off. While Moss covered him, Griffin kicked the door in.

The door was tougher than it appeared, but after Griffin kicked it again, it soon gave way. Moss instinctively raised his hand to cover his eyes as sunlight spilling from the open doorway blinded him, but he quickly realized his mistake. Removing his googles, Moss charged out of the doorway, hoping he hadn't completely lost the element of surprise.

Fortunately there weren't any Covenant soldiers to greet him. Moss quickly scanned the area.

The shaft opened to some sort of city square. Moss pushed out into the open with Poblede following closely behind. Moss kept his rifle at the ready as he scanned the surrounding buildings, looking for signs of enemy snipers, but he couldn't spot anything. The scream of Banshees overhead had him ducking for cover, but the sound faded away almost as quickly as it appeared.

"All clear," Moss finally announced, lowering his rifle. He gestured to a nearby, waist high wall that surrounded the section of the square they were in. "Pip, set up a defensive perimeter behind that wall," he ordered before running back to the staircase to give the rest of the platoon some cover.

"Come on, come on!" Moss urged as the rest of the infantrymen surged up the stairs. He grabbed Xanthus as he exited the staircase.

"Sergeant, who's the last man?"

"Captain Rabinowitz!"

"Okay!"

Moss glanced down the staircase to see Rabinowitz sprinting up the stairs as fast as he could. Behind him, Moss could see Drones starting to rise up from the ground.

"Captain, keep your head down!" Moss yelled before opening fire, his bullets passing just over Rabinowitz's head as he climbed the stairs, taking two steps at a time.

Moss swore as his rifle clicked empty but Volkov suddenly stepped in the spot beside him and started firing, giving Moss time to reload. He managed to put a few more rounds down the shaft before Rabinowitz made it out.

"Last man! We need to seal the shaft behind us," Rabinowitz said without preamble.

"Already ahead of you sir," Moss reported, pulling out a block of C-12 from his bag. Without fuzing or even arming the plastic explosive, Moss tossed it down the shaft.

"How's that supposed to help us?" Volkov demanded to know. "Oh," he said as Moss held up a fragmentation grenade. "Clear the doorway!"

Moss primed the grenade and then casually tossed the explosive device down the shaft. "Frag out," he calmly said, before backing up a few meters.

There was a muffled _thud_ followed closely by a much larger rumble and a cloud of smoke shot out the open doorway like it was a chimney. Moments later, there was a loud shrieking of metal before the entire structure collapsed upon itself, sealing the passage.

There was no time to celebrate their victory though.

"Platoon, get out of the open!" Volkov ordered. "Find some cover! No don't cross the street!" he barked and a couple of the infantrymen froze. "The subway runs parallel to the road. Fall back this way!"

"Sergeant Shen, how much time do we have?" Rabinowitz called out as Moss rejoined his squad. Moss glanced up at his HUD.

"About four minutes, sir," Moss reported and Rabinowitz nodded in acknowledgement.

Taking a moment to reload, Moss swooped down to pick up his old magazine when Griffin bumped into him. Moss glanced up to see Griffin looking all over the place, looking very much like a lost tourist.

"The hell is wrong with you?" Moss asked.

"We're in Covenant turf now, aren't we?" Griffin asked in lieu of a response.

"Yeah?" Moss commented after he realized Griffin was right. "Yeah, I guess we are."

Griffin let out a disappointed sigh. "Man, I thought it would be much cooler than this. I figured there'd be a sign or something."

"You've played way too many video games Griffin. In reality, you don't get an achievement just for doing your job."

"I mean, don't we at least deserve a welcoming party?" Griffin commented, gesturing widely at the peaceful block, accidently smacking one of Xanthus' men in the face as he carelessly waved his hands around. "Whoops."

 _FWOOZ!_

A blue plasma bolt slammed into the back of the head of the rifleman. The man instantly toppled to the ground as the plasma rapidly boiled through his helmet and began cooking his brains.

"Contact rear!" Norén bellowed and promptly open fired.

Moss whirled around as an entire Covenant patrol began pouring out of the buildings from across the street.

"Dammit Griffin, you just had to say something!" Poblede screamed as she fired a grenade at the mass.

For his part, Moss snapped his rifle up and began laying down as much fire as he possibly could while backpedaling at the same time. His rifle unexpectedly jammed. Without breaking stride, Moss yanked back on the charging handle a couple times, ejecting the dud round, and continued to fire.

" _Clear the street! Fall back into the buildings!"_ Volkov was yelling out loud and into the radio. _"Captain, police up your men!"_

" _Alpha Section, covering fire! Bravo Section, pop smoke and fall back! Sappers, you too! Fall back!"_

Moss quickly reloaded before unclipping a smoke grenade from his belt and tossed it in front of him. He quickly retreated, taking cover next to Norén behind the ruins of the shaft.

" _Alpha, bound back! Bravo, cover!"_

Moss propped his rifle on a jagged H-pile stick out from the ground and fired into the smoke as Alpha Section pulled back. A radioactive green spike shattered against his cover, causing him to flinch.

"Snipers, in the buildings, up high!" Norén announced.

Moss raised his rifle but he couldn't spot anything so he just started shooting at all the windows.

"No, target the left window Sergeant! The left one!" Norén yelled.

"I don't know what building you're looking at!" Moss admitted.

There was a loud _pop_ and Demirci came crashing to the ground next to Moss as he was speared through the leg.

"Ah fuck!" Demirci cried. "Medic!"

Moss instantly grabbed him and pulled him into cover. "Norén, cover! Medic!"

Digging into his IFAK, Moss pulled out a can of biofoam. "Hang on Specialist, you're going to be alright!"

Demirci leaned his head back and groaned. "They got me. I can't fucking believe it, they fucking got me!"

"Just hang in there," Moss told him as he fumbled with the can. His hands were shaking so much though, either because of the adrenaline or the cold, Moss was having a hard time breaking the seal.

"Bravo, fall back, Alpha cover!"

"Shit," Moss muttered, stuffing the can back into his belt. "Dude, this is going to hurt like hell but I'm going to have pick you up and carry you."

"Whatever!" Demirci angrily yelled back. "Just don't fucking leave me here!"

"Picking him up!" Moss warned before bending over and grabbing hold of Demirci. Demirci screamed in pain as Moss hefted him onto his shoulder, jousting Demirci's wounded leg in the process.

"On the move!" Moss grunted.

He took a few steps in the direction of the retreating platoon when a loud shrill filled his ears. For half a second, Moss was afraid to look down, half convinced he had somehow stepped on a mine. Then he realized the shrill was coming from his HUD, not the ground. Moss glanced up to see four red zeros blinking at him.

It started off as a small tremor, barely noticeable over the sound of gunfire. Then the very ground beneath Moss' feet began to shake and a loud rumble filled the air.

"Sergeant, move!" Norén hissed before she just took off sprinting.

Moss took off after her but burdened as he was, he couldn't move as fast. He struggled forward as the ground began to visibly buckle and the very air began to shake. Suddenly a loud roar filled the air, like a giant creature was finally waking up from a long slumber and the concrete slab Moss was standing on cracked and began collapsing backwards into the ground. Moss lost his balance and fell to his knees, landing with enough force his knees began to pulse with pain despite the protective pads he was wearing.

"Whoa!" Demirci screamed in terror from Moss' back. "Fucking move! Get us the fuck out of here!"

Moss had seen enough horror movies to know better than to look back. With concerted effort, Moss surged to his feet and ran. All around him, the ground continued to buckle. Cracks formed in the sidewalk, throwing small clouds of dust and debris into the air. Behind him, Moss could hear the undiluted bellow of collapsing superstructures, mixed in with Demirci's terror filled screams. Moss sprinted forward, maneuvering with more grace and balance than he ever thought he possessed, dodging between cracks and crumbling concrete. A cloud of dust enveloped him like a blanket, reducing his visibility to nothing, and just when Moss thought he was done for, it was suddenly over, the tremors ended just as quickly as it had begun.

Reaching stable ground, Moss jumped when he felt a hand grab hold of him, but it was only Poblede. Looking relieved, she led him out of the particle filled smog to where the rest of the unit had assembled. The first thing Moss did was conduct a quick head count. His squad were all alive and present for, though they looked rather shaken. Then he checked to make sure Demirci was still alive. Demirci jumped when Moss shrugged his shoulders, nearly causing Moss to lose his balance again but Roer grabbed him and held him steady. Nodding his thanks, Moss glanced down to make sure he still had his rifle. It was still there, hanging off his shoulder by the sling, though the amount of grime coating his rifle had him concerned about possible damage. Finally, Moss glanced behind him.

Solely based on the amount of noise he'd heard, Moss had been expecting a lot of damage but the sheer amount of destruction still took him by surprise. An entire block of buildings had collapsed, leaving behind only a massive pile of brick and concrete. Pieces of steel rebar stuck out of the pile in all directions, looking like some sort of death trap from the medieval era. The entire road had disappeared; swallowed by the ground when the subway tunnels had collapsed. A crevice was all that left where the road had once ran. On Moss' side of the road, part of the square had collapsed into the ground. Uneven chunks of concrete jutted into the air, and cracks were shooting out in all directions, one of which only ended a few centimeters away from where Moss was standing. Of the Covenant patrol that had been taking cover among the buildings, there was no sign. Moss could only surmise they had all been killed by the collapsing buildings.

"Now that's a welcome," Moss heard Griffin quip.

All Moss could do was roll his eyes.

* * *

1\. Quote is from the 2005 scifi film _Serenity_

2\. RASP: Ranger Assessment and Selection Program. In the US Army, RASP is the program that will determine whether a soldier is allowed into the prestigious 75th Ranger Regiment. Despite the name, US Army Ranger School is only a leadership course, and has nothing to do with being selected for the 75th Rangers Regiment.

3\. 100mph tape: aka, duct tape

4\. Phoenix Program: this was an actual program run primarily run by the United States aimed at identifying and neutralizing the infrastructure of the Vietcong during the Vietnam War. The program was controversial due to accusation of torture, the murdering of innocent civilians, and various other war crimes.

5\. Castles: a US Army specific nickname for soldiers who possess an MOS code in the Engineering Branch, which include but is not limited to, combat engineers. The 'castle' is derived from the fact that Engineering Branch insignia is that of a castle.

6\. Crabs: a US military nickname for EOD technicians. The name comes from the fact that, upon successful graduation from the 42 week Naval Explosive Ordnance Disposal School, all technicians are award the "Explosive Ordnance Disposal Badge," which sort of looks like a crab.

Side note for 5 & 6: Apparently, in the US Army, there's a bit of a rivalry between combat engineers and EOD techs, similar to the rivalry between the Army and Marines, infantry and cavalry scouts, combat arms and support arms, etc. It's not really intended to be a serious thing and not nearly as widespread as some of the other examples.

7\. Barney: military slang for simplifying or "dumbing down" a topic. Named after Barney the Dinosaur, a character from an American children's show _Barney & Friends._

General Notes:

I have no idea of anything I wrote about the fuel-air bomb is accurate. I wanted Krios to sound smart (because she's an EOD tech; I figured she would know all about how those bombs work,) but when I went to research how fuel-air bombs worked, the science behind it was above me. So, you know, don't use this chapter for a research paper or something.

If you do happen to know how any of this stuff works, feel free to let me know if what I wrote was just a bunch of techno babble, and I'll do my best to correct it.


	5. Chapter 4

A quick shout-out to the all the readers who have left reviews so far. Reviews are not required, but feedback is of course, always appreciated.

To the Guest who left a review for Chapter 2: That's an interesting idea however that's not quite the goal of this fanfic. I do have an outline floating around for a complimentary story similar in concept to what you suggested, however I'm not sure I'll be able to get around to actually writing it. We'll just have to see how I feel after I (hopefully) finish this one.

To Quality Fan: Thank you so much for the kind words. No worries about the rant, I happen to agree. There are quite a few artistic choices about the UNSC military that have left me scratching my head. As I mentioned in the author's note just before the Prologue, I've done my best to stick to Official Canon as much as possible, however I have made some tweaks and changes to make, what I consider, a more realistic UNSC Army. You'll see more of those changes in future chapters. Hopefully they'll be to your satisfaction.

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

 **Gaius Maecenas Center, Byzas, Thracia Province, Actium  
** **May 6, 2545  
1544**

"Clear the road," Volkov ordered in a firm voice. "Take cover in the buildings. Move quick troopers, more Covenant patrols are on their way."

Readjusting Demirci so he was less likely to slip off his shoulders, Moss jogged after Volkov as he led them into a nearby building. Kicking right through the glass doors, Volkov entered, clearing the way. A few moments later, he gestured for the rest of the unit to follow. Easing passed the metal frame, Moss entered the building, which appeared to have been some sort of museum. He didn't have time to look around as Rabinowitz ushered him into the gift shop. Shoving shelves and racks out of the way, they cleared an open space on the ground.

"Rabinowitz, take two of your men and go block the entrance," Volkov immediately barked. "Doc Falco, get the wounded up and ready for immediate transport. You have five minutes. Everybody else, on me."

"Jackson, Ramirez, with me," Rabinowitz called out. "Xanthus, get me a head and ammo count."

"Pip and Norén, go help the Captain. Griffin go with Major Volkov," Moss ordered. "Roer, you and me will stay here, do what we can to help Falco. Speaking of which, hey Doc, where do you want him?" Moss asked, gesturing to Demirci.

"Put him here," Falco ordered and Moss gratefully lowered Demirci to the ground. Taking a moment to catch his breath, Moss removed his balaclava and brushed himself off before quickly checking over rifle.

Blowing off the chassis, Moss unloaded the rifle and cleared the chamber to make sure there weren't any barrel obstructions. Then, flicking the ammo digital counter back on, he changed screens so he could run a quick diagnostic of his rifle. While the program worked, Moss performed a quick functions check, making sure his primary life line wouldn't blow up in his face the next time he tried to use it. Once he visually verified everything was in working order, which was confirmed by the computer, he reloaded his rifle and then quickly took inventory.

The subway fight had consumed roughly two thirds of his ammunition reserves, leaving him with four full mags and the half mag that had been in his rifle, which he quickly swapped out. He hadn't needed to use too many explosives in the subway, so his stock of C-12 plastic explosives as well his smoke grenades were mostly intact, but Moss was down to one thermite grenade and fresh out of frags. All in all, while Moss wasn't in urgent need of resupply just yet, he'd feel a lot more confident if he have one.

Shrugging to himself, Moss rearranged his gear so his empty magazines were in a place where he wouldn't accidently grab them in the middle of a firefight.

While Moss had been inventorying, Falco and Roer had been busy working on the wounded.

"Come on Doc, it's not a big deal. Just give me some painkillers and then cover it up," Demirci was urging. "You got to get me back into this shit. I didn't get this far just to puss out now."

"Hey Demirci, here's a radical idea: why don't you be a SAW gunner and I be the medic?" Falco mildly suggested. "Hold still, let me check this."

"Fine Doc. Just don't put a Voodoo curse or whatever on me again."

"… you're a fucking idiot Demirci."

"Area secured," Xanthus announced as he walked back into the area. "Doc, how's it going?"

"Coming along," Falco reported. "A couple of minutes, we'll be done here. You do a headcount yet? We lose anyone?"

"Yeah," Xanthus tiredly grunted. "Three: Asfaw, Delgado and Trần."

"Shit," Demirci hissed. "Trần owed me money!"

"Well, I'm very sorry for _your_ loss," Xanthus snapped. "Let's just forget we just lost three of our guys on some bullshit…"

Xanthus trailed off and visibly restrained himself while Demirci held up his hands in surrender.

"Sorry Sergeant," Demirci said apologetically, "that's not what I meant."

Xanthus took a deep breath. "Yeah, I know. Look, forget about it. Doc, how are you with ammo?"

"I'm good. I've still got five rounds. Sorry, I mean, five magazines, about a hundred and fifty rounds left. I was running around so I didn't do much shooting on the train," Falco explained.

"What about you Demirci?"

"Down to a single drum."

"What? Are you telling me you burned through nearly five hundred rounds of ammunition on the train?" Xanthus demanded.

"Yeah? There were a lot of bad guys in case you didn't notice," Demirci stated, somewhat defensively.

"Jesus Christ, we have no idea when our next fucking resupply is. Slow down your rate of fire, god dammit. Doc, give him some of your mags. Hopefully you won't need them. Sergeant Shen?"

Moss jumped at the sound of his name. "What's up Sergeant?"

"How much ammo do the engineers have?"

"Not sure," Moss admitted. He noticed Poblede and Norén returning though so he added, "I'm about to do a count myself."

"Well, let me know. Might have to steal some ammo from you guys, especially if my boys have as much fire discipline as this dumbass does."

"As long as you can keep the Covenant off our backs, I'm cool with that," Moss agreed.

Xanthus grunted and started to walk away, but stopped when Falco called out to him.

"Hey Sergeant, you alright?" Falco asked. "You look exhausted."

At that, Moss looked up and took a closer look at Xanthus. Xanthus was covered in as much grime and dirt as everyone else was, but now that Falco had pointed it out, Moss had to admit, Xanthus did look pretty crappy. Xanthus had bags under his eyes, his shoulders were hunched over, and he was panting ever so slightly even though he was just standing there. Xanthus looked like someone who just been through hell and back, which admittedly wasn't that far from the truth, even though Moss didn't think the subway fight had been a complete disaster. Of course, he hadn't lost any of his men in the firefight.

"I'm fine," Xanthus said shortly. "Don't worry about me Doc, worry about doing your fucking job." He nodded at Demirci. "Get him patched up."

"'Don't worry about me?'" Falco quoted as Xanthus walked away. "That **is** my fucking job."

"Don't take it personally Doc," Demirci said. "He just doesn't want to be here."

As Moss turned his attention to Poblede and Norén, he heard Falco saying, "Dude, no one wants to be here."

"Entrance is secure," Poblede reported, then paused. "Well, sort of, kind of, not really. We didn't have jack shit to block the entrance, so we just lowered the security gate, turned on the alarm, and Norén here rigged up a tripwire device. Anyone coming through those doors are getting a nasty surprise. Also, for now at least, Rabinowitz posted two guys to watch the entrance to cover our backs. So, let's not forget about them when we leave."

"Good enough," Moss stated. "Hey, how are you two fixed for ammo? Especially you Pip. How are you for 40mil?"

"Grenades are fine," Poblede reported. "I've barely used them. Its ammo I need. I'm down to two mags."

Moss pulled out his half-loaded magazine and tossed it over to Poblede.

"Take that," Moss ordered, glad that DMRs and assault rifles fired the same 7.62x51mm ammunition. Granted, DMRs generally used match ammo with a heavier bullet when compared to assault rifles, however the headspace on both weapon systems remained the same.

"What about you Norén?"

"I'm good," Norén said, patting her belt. "I've got about six fully loaded magazines left."

"Hey Roer?" Moss called out. "How much ammo you got?"

Moss watched as Roer check his gear. "About three hundred rounds left," he finally reported.

"Alright. I need a drum mag from you and two mags from you Norén," Moss said. "Apparently some of the mud crunchers(1) have been a little bit trigger happy."

"Of course they have," Norén complained, even as she handed Moss over the items he requested. "The UNSC doesn't bother teaching their soldiers a damn thing about fire discipline."

"And the Innies do?" Roer retorted.

Norén glanced down at her mostly full ammunition pouches. "Clearly."

"Sergeant Shen!"

Moss glanced over to see one of Xanthus' men poking his head into the store. "What's up Trooper?"

"Captain wants all squad leaders in the lobby for a briefing."

"Alright, copy that," Moss said. He gathered his gear and left the gift shop. Before heading to Rabinowitz, Moss went to go find Griffin to receive an update on his status. He found him nearby, scratching all over a poster of an astronaut mounted on the wall next to him with his bayonet.

"Griffin, what are you doing?" Moss asked as he watched Griffin draw a dick being inserted into the mouth of the man on the poster. Griffin had already drawn a pair of glasses and a mustache on the man, as well as a pair of horns.

"Making art," Griffin said, his tongue between his teeth as he concentrated on drawing the balls.

"Yes, I can see that," Moss drily commented. "What are you _supposed_ to be doing?"

"Watching this hallway," Griffin said, pointing.

"So why aren't you?"

Griffin glanced at him. "Well, there's no one there."

"How the fuck would you know? You're not even looking."

"I got ears, don't I?"

"Griffin…" Moss began before shaking his head. "You know what? I don't want to get into it right now. Do your fucking job Griffin and watch the fucking hallway."

Griffin shrugged and put away his bayonet. "Alright."

Sighing in annoyance, Moss started to walk away before remembering why he had sought out Griffin in the first place. "Griffin, how much ammo you got?"

"I've got four clips for my gun and twenty-four bullets for my shotty," Griffin reported after he finished counting.

"You got any grenades?" Moss asked after a moment's thought.

"Two round ones and two cylinder ones."

Moss stared at him. "You mean: you got two frags and two thermite?" Moss guessed.

"Sure. Why not?"

Moss sighed. "Fine. Give me one of your mags and one of your frags. The round ones, I mean."

"What? You're taking my ammo?" Griffin said, sounding uncharacteristically pissed.

"Not all of it, just some of it," Moss patiently explained.

"Why?" Griffin demanded.

"Because sharing is caring Griffin?" Moss suggested. "Because some of the mud crunchers are running low and need more."

"Fuck that. If they wanted more ammo, then they should have brought more."

"I agree. But they didn't and they need some now. So hand it over Griffin. That's an order."

Griffin growled but reluctantly obeyed.

"Thank you. Keep watching that corridor, I'll be back."

"This is such bullshit," Moss heard Griffin mutter as he walked away.

Shaking his head, Moss walked over to where Xanthus, Rabinowitz, and Volkov had gathered. Handing the ammo over to Xanthus, Moss told him, "Hey Sergeant, this is about all I can spare."

"Good enough," Xanthus said as he looked over the selection. "Maybe these fuckers will check their fire when they realize they're not getting resupplied that easily. Thanks."

"Okay, listen up," Volkov began. "First off, good job on the subway. I'll admit, it's not quite how I would have preferred to start off a mission, but we delivered the package, denied the enemy an avenue of advance, secured our defensive line, slipped passed enemy positions, and inflicted heavy casualties while receiving a minimal amount in return all in one fell swoop."

"Unfortunately, we don't have time to celebrate. Because our infiltration was, by necessity, loud, the Covenant have been alerted to our presence here and we have to assume they'll be sending combat patrols after us. So, we need to move hard and fast to the target area before they reach us." Volkov activated his holographic projector. "We're here, at the Byzas Space Museum. We still need to move three klicks due north before we even reach the factory district, and I'd like to do so without drawing any more attention to us. Captain Rabinowitz, what's our current status?"

Rabinowitz coughed. "Sergeant Xanthus?"

Xanthus sighed. "We have three dead and two wounded, though only lightly and both will be mobile."

Moss absentmindedly nodded. Armor had evolved to the point where shrapnel was no longer the number one killer of soldiers; unless a soldier took a direct hit like Shin and Ferguson had on Newsaka, generally only light wounds would be expected. In contrast, because plasma burned as such a high temperature, it had a tendency to melt through armor usually causing fatal thermal third degree burns; unless of course a soldier was fortunate to be hit in the middle of the chest plate, which contained the thickest amount of armor, like Roer was when they first landed.

"That's good. What about our ammo situation?" Volkov asked.

Xanthus rubbed his face in a frustrated manner. "That sir… is not so good. My platoon is down to about nine hundred and fifty rounds," he admitted.

"That's... not a lot," Rabinowitz hesitantly pointed out.

"I know sir," Xanthus tiredly said. "Some of my guys are just a bit too trigger happy I guess. I've already yelled at some of them, for all the good it will do at this point. The engineers have also graciously given us some of their ammo."

"Is that even going to be enough?"

"We'll make it last sir."

"Nevertheless," Volkov interrupted, "this only serves to demonstrate the fact we're going to need to be more cautious on how we proceed from this point forward. We can't afford to get embroiled in another firefight. From this point out, we need to take a more stealthy approach. To that end, I want us to stick to the buildings as much as possible. Move cover to cover: spend as little time in the open. If unavoidable, we stick to the side roads and back alleys. Avoid attracting any sort of attention. Which means, rules of engagement, no one fire unless I approve. We'll start by cutting right through this building. Sergeant Xanthus, I want you on point."

Xanthus let out a quiet sigh, quiet enough that Moss wasn't sure if Xanthus was even aware he had done so.

"I'll do it instead sir," Rabinowitz quickly said, throwing a concerned look in Xanthus' direction. Volkov didn't seem to notice

"Fine, whatever," Volkov said shortly. "Sergeant Shen, I want you and your sappers covering our six. Eyes and ears open people, let's move out."

"Captain, don't forget about your men at the main entrance," Moss said as they broke apart.

"Thanks Sergeant," Rabinowitz said somewhat distractedly, before walking over to Xanthus. They began having a hushed conversation and Moss glanced at them curiously, but then shrugged. He had his own problems to deal with. Grabbing his rifle, Moss walked over to where his squad had gathered. Moss was surprised to see Volkov had already recalled all the perimeter guards.

"So, what's new?" Poblede asked.

"We're moving out," Moss informed them as he turned the digital ammo counter on his rifle off. Again. He was beginning to think he should just keep the damn thing turned off. "Stealth approach from here on out. We move from building to building. Stay out of the open and keep the noise to a minimum. Pretty standard stuff. But here's something: no one is to fire unless with expressed approval from Volkov."

"What if we start taking fire?" Norén instantly asked.

"Well then, shoot back obviously. I don't care what Major Volkov says but if we taking fire, we've clearly been compromised. But, you know, use your damn common sense. If you see a patrol three hundred meters out, don't give away our position by taking a potshot at them, understood?"

Moss waited until his squad responded with affirmations. "Good. We're at the rear of the column. I want, support weapons at the very back," Moss ordered, pointing at Poblede and Roer. "We start taking contact, you two will lay down a base of fire until the rest of us can find a place to cover your retreat. Do what you have to, but try and chose your targets carefully. We're all a bit low on ammo and we don't know when our next resupply will be. Questions?"

"Yeah," Griffin said, raising his hand, still sounding irritated. "How do I get out of this chicken-shit outfit(2)?"

Moss ignored him. "Alright guys, let's go."

They joined the rest of the column as they began making their way through the museum. Moss kept his head moving, looking out for enemy movement, but he soon found himself getting distracted by the displays surrounding them. The museum seemed like a pretty good one, though for a space museum, this place seemed more like an art museum. There was a small selection of life sized of historic aerospace all over the place, large vacuumed sealed glass displays containing old school space equipment and hardware, large plaques both holographic and real, explaining the significance of each item on display, and plenty of interactive movies and games. But, for the most part, it seemed most of the walls were covered in photographs of constellations, portraits of famous space pioneers, old paintings of artist representations of celestial bodies next to photographs of what the bodies actually looked like, etc. Still, it all looked rather interesting and Moss wished he wasn't in the middle of a mission, or a warzone, so he could spent some time to look around. But Moss knew he couldn't as it would be too dangerous to wander away from the group and plus, Moss had to set an example for his men. Still, he found himself drifting to the back where Roer was.

"Hey Roer, you ever been here before?" Moss asked.

Roer glanced around. "A couple of times," he said. "Once when I was on a field trip in elementary school, and then once when I was trying to earn a merit badge when I was in the boy scouts." He fell silent for a moment, deep in thought before adding, "You know, I can't even remember what badge I was going for."

"Huh," Moss commented thoughtfully. "What's this place like?"

"Well, it's the largest museum in the city limits," Roer informed him. "There's actually a sister museum about thirty klicks south of the city which is cooler because they have a lot more ship's on display. But um, aside from that, I don't really know. Don't really like museums all that much to be honest," Roer confessed.

"Really? Why?"

"Because it's all about history. And history sucks," was Roer's blunt reply.

"Yeah, seriously!" Griffin interjected. "Who cares about what happened to a bunch of old people in the past?"

"Right? The only people who like history are, like, old, boring people."

"I like history," Moss interjected.

"Well, you're a nerd Sergeant," Roer pointed out. "So no one cares what you thinks."

Moss heard Poblede quietly burst out laughing and he glanced at her. "Thanks Pip. Always knew I could count on you for support."

She gave him a cheeky grin. "You're welcome."

"What about you Norén?" Moss asked as they walked into another hall. "What's your opinion on history?"

"History is an absolutely crucial subject everyone should learn," Norén replied. "Knowing the mistakes of the past will help future generations avoid making the same mistakes."

Moss allowed a triumphant grin to creep onto his face.

"That being said," Norén continued, "never cared much for the subject. I always preferred chemistry; always wanted to learn how to blow stuff up."

Moss felt his face fall.

Poblede suddenly let out a gasp and Moss instantly came alert. He reflexively dropped to one knee, rifle at the ready, and started searching for targets but not seeing any. He turned to Poblede to find out exactly what she had seen, but she was no longer behind him. For a moment, Moss panicked, thinking he had somehow lost her, but then he realized she had only abandoned the formation to go check out one of the vehicles the museum had on display. Throwing his hands into the air in frustration, he gestured for his squad to continue, before walking over to Poblede to drag her back into the column.

"You know, got to be honest, I'm a bit disappointed in you," Moss stated conversationally as he approached her. "I would have thought Griffin would have been the first to get distracted. Didn't think you would be the one."

Poblede however, wasn't listening. "Come here," she said excitedly. "Look, they've got a replica of the Sputnik!"

"Cool," Moss said. "Who, or what, exactly is a Sputnik?" he added a moment later.

Poblede glanced at him with a disapproval look on her face. "How do you not know what the Sputnik is? I thought you just said you liked history?"

Moss considered the question for a moment before replying. "I like _military_ history," Moss clarified. "So, unless this thing dropped a bomb or something, I've probably never heard of it."

"The Sputnik was the very first manmade object to reach space!" Poblede explained. "The launching of the Sputnik was the sole catalyst that triggered the Space Race, which cumulated in the placement of the first man on the moon, marking the first time a human ever walked on a planetary body that wasn't Earth. If it weren't for this little device," Poblede pointed at the satellite, "I think it's safe to say we wouldn't be here right now."

Moss hummed and studied the satellite, which looked like nothing more than a silver beach ball with spikes sticking out of it. "Doesn't look like much."

Poblede snorted. "Of course. It was designed in the 1950's Moss. That's almost five hundred years ago."

"Well, as interesting as this is, it's not interesting enough to deviate from the mission. So get back into formation and don't wander off again," Moss ordered.

"Sorry," Poblede said apologetically as she turned away. "Just didn't know if I'd ever get a chance to see this again."

Moss turned to follow her but a nearby photograph caught his eye. "Hey, I know that constellation," Moss cheerfully announced. "That's Orion's Belt."

"What did you just say?"

Moss jumped and whirled around. Standing uncomfortably close to him was Major Volkov and Captain Rabinowitz, both with matching looks of alarm on their faces. Moss was a bit ashamed to realize he had no idea when they had snuck up behind him and he resolved at that point to be more alert.

"Sorry sirs," Moss said, noting Poblede standing a bit behind them, looking nervous. "My fault. I got distracted and left the column…" he began to explain but Volkov quickly waved him off.

"Forget about that," Volkov demanded. His visor had been depolarized, allowing Moss to notice just how intently Volkov was staring at him. "What did you just say?"

Moss blinked in confusion. "Nothing sir."

"Don't give me that bullshit Sergeant!" Volkov barked. "I'm only going to ask one more time: what did you just say?"

Moss abruptly remembered Norén's warning about Volkov's background and all of a suddenly, Moss felt extremely nervous. He could feel sweat forming on his head and his throat felt dry all of a sudden, leaving him unable to find the words to speak.

"We were just talking about the Sputnik sir," Poblede nervously interjected. "About how it launched the Space Race…"

"I know what the fucking Sputnik is," Volkov spat. "What did you say afterwards Sergeant?"

Moss finally found his voice. "That's Orion's Belt sir," Moss meekly said, pointing at the display behind him. "It's probably the only star constellation I ever recognize."

Volkov immediately began cussing up a storm, walking away from Moss. Moss was relieved to no longer be under Volkov's glare, but Volkov's reaction left him more confused than ever. He exchanged glances with Poblede, who looked just as puzzled as he felt.

"Sergeant," Rabinowitz called, bring Moss' attention to himself. "Are you telling us this is an exact image of a star constellation you would be able to see if you were standing on Earth right now?"

"Well, not exactly right now sir," Moss stuttered. "At least, not from where I'm from. I think this constellation is only really visible during the winter."

"Oh fudge," Rabinowitz groaned before turning to Volkov. "Do you think the Covenant could use this?"

"We could," Volkov snarled. "We have to assume the Covenant have the same ability, if not better, than we do."

"Well, maybe we could rip out the hard drive of this museum. Should destroy all these holograms, right?"

Volkov shook his head. "That won't do anything to eliminate the physical displays. No, we've got to burn this fucking place to the ground."

Moss couldn't contain himself any longer. "I'm sorry sir, but what the fuck is going on?"

Rabinowitz rubbed his face. "Star constellations will look different depending on what planet you're looking at them from. If the Covenant could find out exactly which angle this constellation is being viewed from, they could potentially pinpoint the exactly location of Earth."

Moss gaped at him. "That's a thing?" he blurted out.

"They don't even need have an exact location," Volkov groaned. "They just have to get a ballpark area. Once they get close, they'll start picking up on all the radio transmissions Earth has been emitting until we started encrypting them in the early 2100's because they kept interfering with space communication traffic. God fucking dammit. How come no one has ever noticed this before?"

"I have no idea," Rabinowitz said. "But we need to do something now. How do we level this building?"

Moss abruptly realized how big the hall they were standing in actually was. "Sir, I don't have enough explosives to level this hall, much less this entire building," he quickly pointed out. "Especially if we still have to destroy our objective afterwards."

"I know," Volkov grumpily said. "We're going to need exterior fire support. A single MAC round from one of the stations would be enough to level this entire block, but the Navy needs them in their fight in high orbit. If the Navy doesn't hold back the Covenant fleet, this colony is lost."

"What about air support?" Rabinowitz suggested.

"Going to need at least a dozen JDAMs to level this place and I don't know if any our fighters will be able to stay on station that long to deliver them all. We could use a bigger bomb, but that would require a bigger airframe, which in turns means a bigger target. In this contested airspace? It won't last very long."

"Sir?" Roer suddenly said. Moss glanced at him, wondering how long he'd been standing there. "What about missile submarines? I know the Actium Colonial Navy maintains a small fleet of them at Naval Base Ostia, about fifty klicks outside of the city."

"Yes, that could work," Volkov said a bit more calmly. "Those subs are designed to carry a hundred fifty cruise missiles a piece. I think I've got their radio frequency." He activated his TACPAD and began scrolling through it. "Lightning-7, 3 Charlie, how copy over?"

Moss presumed he received a response as moments later, Volkov said, "Lightning-7, fire mission. Requesting missile support at location..."

Volkov abruptly trailed off and frowned. "I just lost radio connection," he commented.

Roughly the same time he said that, all the lights in the museum turned off as the power was cut. Seconds later, the museum's emergency lights switched on. Over the sound of lights turning on, Moss could hear the sound of several anti-gravity engines departing the area.

"Phantoms or Spirit transports," Rabinowitz announced. "I heard two or three of them. That's about an entire platoon's worth. Maybe more. And they've brought a jammer with them."

"Of course the Covenant would show up now," Volkov muttered. In a louder voice, he said, "Okay, new mission. We need to locate and destroy that jammer so we can call in fire support and level this entire building. Now, the Covenant don't have an exact fix on our location and I'd like to keep it that way. Stick to the shadows; maybe we can sneak passed most of the Covenant."

"That's not going to be easy with twenty some guys," Rabinowitz warned.

"I know. We're just going have to do what we can. You two," he said, pointing at Poblede and Moss. "Aside from me, I believe you two are the only ones here who have suppressed weapons. I want you both on point with me. The suppressors aren't going to completely silence our gunshots, so be sparingly with your shots. Move."

Moss nodded and jogged over to rejoin his squad.

"Sergeant, what's going on?" Norén asked.

"We're going to burn this building to the ground," Poblede replied before Moss could say a word.

Griffin clutched his heart. "Marry me," he begged.

"Fuck no."

Griffin shrugged. "Okay," he nonchalantly replied.

"Guys, knock it off," Moss snapped, noting the annoyed look on Volkov's face. "This is serious. There's a Covenant jammer here that we need to destroy but standing between it and us is probably about forty plus Covenant infantry. So unless you scrubs want to get wrecked, stay focused and alert but keep quiet. Right now, we're on point. But because the Major, Corporal Poblede and I are the only ones that have suppressors, we're the only ones authorized to take shots."

Norén nodded. "How do we supposed to track down the jammer?" she asked.

"Covenant communication jammers work by flooding all non-authorized radio frequencies with randomized chatter to clutter the airwaves," Volkov explained. "The closer to the jammer we get, the stronger the jam. Furthermore, inner-squad communication, such as SQUADCOM, aren't affected unless we're really close. So, once we completely lose our comms, we'll know we're in the general vicinity of the jammer."

Moss nodded. Seemed simple enough though Moss knew trying to sneak twenty-two fully armed and equipped soldiers past an entire platoon of fully alert Covenant soldiers without detection wasn't going to be easy. Still, they had to try.

"We stay out of the main corridor; it's too well-lit and there's no cover. We stick to the individual galleries." Volkov ordered as he polarized his visor. "Let's move."

Moss followed Volkov as he led them to the end of the hall. Pausing at the entrance into the next gallery, he gestured for Moss and Poblede to stack up on the right side of the doorway.

"Clear the room," Moss heard Volkov order over SQUADCOM. "I'll clear the left, Sergeant clear the right, Corporal clear the center. Enter in three, two, one, breach!"

Following closely behind Volkov, Moss cleared the doorway, bring his rifle up to bear in one swift motion. He began scanning the room for targets, but finding none.

"Right clear," he started to announce but Volkov quickly brushed passed him.

"You don't need to tell me it's clear if it's clear," Volkov snapped. "Keep moving; we don't have time to waste."

Moss threw a startled glanced at Poblede, who merely shrugged. That wasn't the way Moss had been trained to clear buildings. He had always been told constant communication was key so that everyone involved in the breach would know exactly what was going on, to prevent fatal confusion. While Moss supposed yelling out callouts, even over the radio, wasn't exactly conducive for a stealth mission, the nonstop movement through the building without detailed clearance of each room was going to be unsettling to Moss. Still, Volkov was in charge, plus, he was Special Forces. He was much better trained in his job than Moss was

Keeping his rifle at the low-ready position, Moss quickly made his way through the gallery, doing his best not to bump into anything least he accidently knock something over. He also wanted to avoid touching anything; he knew museums usually had alarms surrounding objects that weren't behind a protective glass to prevent people from touching it. While the lights were clearly off, Moss wasn't sure if that was because the Covenant had turned the lights off or killed the power. He glanced at the security camera mounted in the corner of the room, but he couldn't tell if it was on because it was covered in its protective bubble. If they were on, Moss could only hope the Covenant weren't monitoring the screens and tracking their every movement.

They reached the end of the gallery, which led back into the main corridor. Gesturing for everyone else to stop and wait, Volkov attached his battle rifle to his back before pulling out his magnum. Unscrewing the suppressor, he stuck the weapon around the corner. Moss was confused at first, but then remembered the M6C/SOCOM pistols that Special Forces units were issued were equipped with 'smart-link' interfaces on their scopes. The smart-link interfaces allowed the optical scopes on the magnums to be connected directly to the user's HUD, turning the scope into a camera, thus allowing the user to see around corners without having to endanger themselves.

Moss waited with bated breath as Volkov carefully scanned one end of the corridor, then switched sides and scanned the other end.

"We cross in groups of four," Volkov announced, stand back up and holstering his sidearm. He gestured to the gallery across from them. "Corporal, you and I will cover both ends of the corridor. Sergeant, take the rest of your squad and clear the room. Move."

Nodding, Moss waited until Volkov and Poblede had adopted their positions before taking a deep breath and dashing across the corridor, Norén following close behind. He entered the gallery and immediately raised his rifle, clearing the center while Norén and Griffin fanned out, checking the left and right corners, respectively. The gallery was clear so Moss turned around and gestured for the others to join him. Instead of immediately sending the next group straight away though, Volkov gestured for him to wait. Moss watched as Volkov pulled out his sidearm again and began checking both ends of the corridor again.

Moss waited a bit impatiently as Volkov scanned the corridor again for enemy patrols. He supposed the extra scrutiny was warranted, but he couldn't help but feel a bit rankled. A few moments ago, Volkov was complaining about how slowly Moss was moving. But now it was okay for Volkov to take his sweet time? That didn't seem to make any sense.

Moss knew he shouldn't dwell on it as Volkov began sending the rest of the unit across. But nevertheless, Moss couldn't help but walk up to Volkov when he crossed over and quietly ask, "I thought we were in a hurry sir?"

Moss could almost feel the disapproving glare Volkov shot at him from behind his polarized visor, but Volkov said nothing and instead brushed passed Moss as he led the way into the next hall, leaving Moss wondering if he should have just kept his mouth shut. He looked over at Poblede, who had a questioning look on her face, but Moss shook his head and turned to follow Volkov.

They entered the next gallery and cleared it, moving rapidly towards the rear. Just as they were about to reach it, Volkov abruptly raised a closed fist. Moss froze and half a second later he heard it: the sound of heavy footsteps and something speaking in an alien tongue.

Volkov gestured for them to take cover and Moss practically dove behind a cabinet displaying a number of archaic helmets, glad the lights were off as it gave him plenty of shadows to hide in. Readying his rifle, Moss peaked over the cabinet as the Covenant patrol rounded the corner. It was a single file of Covenant soldiers consisting of one Elite Minor and four Grunts. None of the aliens looked all that interested to be there. Two of the Grunts were outright squabbling, the source of most of the noise. Moss could barely believe it but then again, he had noticed how undisciplined Grunts were outside of combat.

As if sensing his thoughts, the Elite unexpectedly glanced in his direction. Moss almost swore, catching himself at the last second, and just barely resisted the urge to duck. While the Elite probably wasn't alert enough to notice the one modern helmet among all the older models, Moss knew any movement was bound to catch the Elite's attention. Moss stood stock still as the Elite stared in his direction for one very long minute before finally moving on, the Grunts having not even noticed anything was amiss.

Waiting until they were out of sight, Moss left out a mute sigh of relief.

" _Sergeant Shen_ ," Volkov said over SQUADCOM, his voice sounding a bit fuzzy over the radio, hinting they were drawing closer to the jammer. _"Is the area cleared?"_

Moss curiously glanced over at Volkov, wondering why he didn't just pull out his magnum and look around the corner. No answer was forthcoming, so Moss shrugged and poked his head over the cabinet. He looked around but he didn't see or hear anyone coming.

"Looks clear," Moss reported.

However as soon as the words left his mouth, a solitary Jackal came wandering around the corner. Moss grabbed his radio but it was too late: Volkov had already stood up into the light. Both Volkov and the Jackal froze upon laying eyes on each other.

Before either of them could make a move, Moss darted out of his hiding spot and tackled the Jackal, making sure to drive his shoulder into the Jackal's diaphragm, forcing the air out of his lungs and preventing the Jackal from calling out a warning. He grabbed the Jackal's head and slammed into the ground, stunning him long enough for Moss to put him in a chokehold. Then, Moss began to squeeze.

At first the Jackal tried to break free, grabbing hold of Moss' arm and trying to pull it away from his throat. When Moss failed to relent, the Jackal began elbowing him in the stomach, but Moss managed to wrap a leg around the Jackal's arm, pinning it to his body.

Realizing he won't be able to break free, the Jackal began to reach for the plasma pistol strapped to his thigh, presumably to fire off a warning shot, but Poblede darted out from the shadows and grabbed hold of the weapon, sliding it across the room into the corner. The Jackal let out a gurgling noise before going still. Moss maintained his grip for a few seconds long, just in case the Jackal was unconscious, not dead, before finally relenting. He quickly dragged the body back into cover with him.

" _I thought you said the area was clear!"_ Volkov demanded, sounding out of breath no doubt because of the adrenaline.

His own heart beating like a drum, Moss' irritation with Volkov suddenly flared and Moss couldn't stop himself from snapping back, "I said it looked clear!"

There was a noticeable moment of hesitation from Volkov. _"Well, how's it look now?"_ he finally asked in a much calmer voice.

Moss rolled his eyes before peeking his head up again. "Looks clear(3)," he repeated.

Volkov audibly sighed. _"Fair enough."_

They reached the end of the hall, which terminated into an internal courtyard of sorts. There, they ran into the next Covenant patrol. Set up on a balcony directly across from their entrance were four Grunts manning a mounted plasma cannon. Two of the Grunts were completely distracted: one was sound asleep while the other was playing with a pair of... dolls? Moss couldn't tell exactly what it was. The remaining two, on the other hand, while not at full alert, were alert enough for it to be an issue. From their position at the darkened doorway, it was doubtful the Grunts were able to see them. But Moss knew the moment he and the others attempted to cross the well-lit courtyard, they would be spotted and cut to shreds.

Moss glanced at Volkov and even though he couldn't see his face, Moss knew Volkov had seen the same thing.

"Do you think we could go around them?" Moss asked without preamble, knowing Volkov would be able to pick up the thread of the conversation. Volkov shook his head.

"We'd have to fall back through the same hall we just came through to get into another hall," Volkov said. "We do that though, we run the risk of encountering the very patrol we just avoided. No, we'll take out the Grunts. That's what the suppressors are for."

Moss skeptically glanced at the Grunts across the yard. They were, at best, only fifty meters away. The short distance would have made the Grunts an easy target, even for a poor marksman, however the Grunts were partially obscured by a metal railing. Furthermore, the Grunts would have to be killed by a single shot to the head, to ensure instantaneous death because a wounded Grunt had a tendency to make a lot of noise. Not only that, a single miss could alert the surviving Grunts to their presence because while suppressors could lower the sound of a gunshot, it couldn't hide it completely. The addition of these factors made the shot far more difficult than it would initially seem.

"Sir, I suppose now would be a good time to mention how poor of a shot I am," Moss commented as Volkov raised his battle rifle and began lining up his shot.

"Get good," was Volkov's rather unhelpful comment. "I'll take the one in the middle. Sergeant, take out the awake one on the left, Corporal, you..."

"Hang on sir," Poblede interrupted. "There's an issue here."

"What is it?"

"I've been doing this long enough to know the Covenant leadership, the Elites, only trust Grunts about as far as they can throw them. Four Grunts guarding a position unsupervised? That's unheard of," Poblede pointed out. "So my question is: where's the big guy?"

"That's a fair point," Volkov admitted. "Where is the Elite?"

As if on cue, an Elite Minor emerged from the doorway diagonally across the doorway from them. The Elite took a cursory look around, before beginning to patrol directly under the balcony the Grunts were occupying.

"Shit," Volkov hissed. "We need to take out that Elite otherwise, he's going to hear our gunshots."

"It's going to take all three of us to drop him in one blow," Moss pointed out. "If we do that, it's probably going to panic the Grunts, who will alert everyone else."

"I know. We're going to need to eliminate all hostiles simultaneously."

Volkov handed Moss his battle rifle. Moss stared at it blankly.

"What do you want me to do with this sir?" Moss asked.

"Hold on to it," Volkov hissed. "I'm going to go out and take out that Elite from behind. The moment I do that, take out all the Grunts."

"That does not sound like a good idea sir," Poblede noted.

"Nobody asked you Corporal," Volkov snapped. "I'm heading out; cover me as I make my way across."

"Sir, I think... shit."

Moss hastily raised his rifle as Volkov darted out from the doorway and quickly dove behind a nearby column. Moss froze as the Elite turned in his direction, but then realized the Elite was only turning around. Moss waited until the Elite had fully turned around before gesturing for Volkov he was cleared to continue moving.

"Man, what a fucking prick," Poblede complained. "What do you think would happen to us if we, say, 'accidently' left him there?"

"We'd probably be put against the wall and shot for treason," Moss replied. "Hold on sir," he whispered into the radio as the Elite glanced in Volkov's direction. Volkov froze and Moss waited until the Elite looked away. "Okay, you're clear."

"That bad huh?" Poblede finished as Volkov continued his advance.

"Well, maybe not that bad, but they'd probably immediately ship us out to the next warzone," Moss allowed. "After all, they've got to get all the use out of us before throwing us away."

He waited until it looked like Volkov was clear for the moment before gesturing behind him. "Norén, Roer. Drop your weapons and come up here."

Norén and Roer quickly scooted up until they were crowding next to him near the doorway. "You, take this. You, take this," Moss said, handing Volkov's battle rifle to Norén before handing his own assault rifle over to Roer. "You guys see those four Grunts?"

"Yes Sergeant," Norén said, answering for the both of them.

"Left to right, number them one to four. When I give the word, Norén, take out three. Roer, take out one. Pip, take out two. Once your targets are down, all of you will take out target four." Moss gestured at the sleeping Grunt. "Standby for my command."

As the three of them quickly took aim, Moss glanced over to Volkov. Volkov had managed to make his way behind the far left column, putting him in a perfect position to ambush the Elite as he walked by.

"Sir?" Moss said into his radio. "That Elite is about seven seconds away from passing by your column. I'll give you a countdown."

Moss could just barely see Volkov nod as he began counting.

"Seven."

There was some mute clicking as Norén adjusted the scope on her borrowed rifle.

"Six."

Poblede calmly removed the safety from her rifle.

"Five."

Moss could hear Roer readjusting his aim.

"Four."

Across the yard, Moss could see Volkov pull out his combat knife.

"Three."

The Elite drew closer to Volkov and Moss could feel himself tensing up.

"Two."

Moss could hear Volkov exhaling over the radio.

"One."

The Elite walked right past Volkov's column.

"Execute!"

Volkov swung out from behind the column, driving his knife right into the Elite's throat, catching him completely by surprise. The Elite collapsed to his knees as Volkov withdrew the knife before driving it back in place. At the same time, three suppressed shots rang out from around Moss.

 _PFFT, PFFT, PFFT._

Three Grunts collapsed to the ground, a single hole in each their heads. The remaining Grunt immediately woke up with a squeak, leaping to his feet, but almost instantly came crashing back down as two rounds hit him in the head, one round in the chest.

Across the yard, Volkov had stabbed the Elite one more time before finishing the Elite off by slitting his throat. Dark blue blood began coating the ground as Volkov gently eased the dying Elite to the ground behind one of the columns.

Moss recovered his rifle from Roer. "Let's go."

Throwing one more glance around the courtyard to make sure they were clear, Moss sprinted across the yard to rejoin Volkov.

Volkov was calmly sitting on top of the Elite's body, wiping his knife, and the soles of his boots, of blood.

"Watch where you step," he warned. "We can't afford to be tracking blood all over the place."

Moss nodded in understanding as Norén handed Volkov's rifle back to him.

"We've got to be getting close to that jammer," Moss suggested. "All these patrols?"

"We are," Volkov confirmed as he gingerly climbed off the Elite. "I could barely hear you over SQUADCOM. Maybe two more galleries." He sheathed his knife. "Keep pushing on."

"Joy," Moss muttered to himself.

They pushed through the next hall, quickly reaching the end. As before, Volkov pulled out his sidearm and inserted it into the main corridor, but this time he quickly removed it after barely a second of scanning.

"Hit the wall," Volkov hissed

Moss obeyed without question. He readied his rifle but Volkov gestured for him to put it away. Moss quickly figured out why. A series of heavy footsteps drew closer and while Moss dare not risk peeling himself away from the wall to see how many there were, based on the shadows the Covenant patrol was casting as they passed by the open doorway, there were a lot. Moss counted shadows for at least two Elites, maybe three Skirmishers, and close to half a dozen Grunts. Basically, there were more enemy personnel than his measly rifle would be able to handle.

"Wait until they pass," Volkov whispered over the radio.

Moss found himself holding his breath as the patrol passed by the doorway and continued down the corridor. When the footsteps started to fade away, Moss pulled away from the wall but Volkov stopped him. Pulling out his sidearm, Volkov stuck it into the corridor again.

"Go away, go away," Moss heard Volkov mutter. "Dammit." He withdrew his sidearm. "Looks like they're splitting up. About half of them are coming back. Find cover in case they decide to come this way."

Moss pulled away from the wall and retreated further back, finding cover under a nearby bench. It was a rather pathetic hiding spot if Moss was honest with himself, but it was simply the best he could do as there just wasn't enough places to hide all twenty-two of them in this hall. Moss could only hope that if the Covenant patrol did enter this hall, he would be lost in the shadows.

Fortunately, they didn't. Moss was relieved to see the shadows of the patrol passing by the entrance to their gallery without stopping before the footsteps started to fade away. He rolled out from under the bench and retook his spot by the entrance as Volkov checked the corridor again.

"Fuck," Volkov said after a few seconds. "They're coming back again. I think this file is just patrolling up and down this corridor." He sighed before addressing the entire unit. "We need to move. Once this patrol's back is turned, we'll cross. Like before, we cross in groups of four or five. Sergeant Shen, you'll go first. Take your team and get set up on the other side to cover us. Wait for my signal."

Moss climbed to his feet and quickly patted himself down to make everything was secured, and that nothing would bounce or rattle when he ran that would give away his position. Closing the flaps on his magazine pouches, he looked over at Volkov. He waited until Volkov gave him a thumbs up.

Moss immediately darted out the door and across the hall without thinking. He held his breath as he sprinted, half-expecting to go down in a hail of plasma any second. And then suddenly, he was in the next gallery with his squad.

Hardly daring to believe it, Moss rapidly took position by the entrance, preparing himself for immediate action, watching Volkov for visual clues. When Volkov pulled back, Moss followed suit. A few moments later, the Covenant patrol walked passed, giving no indication they saw anything.

As soon as they were clear, Volkov sent the next group over. Moss moved out of the way to allow the team some room and waited. He couldn't believe it. There was no way the Covenant were this blind or deaf. Didn't they have peripheral vision? This had to be a trap of some kind but for what end, Moss couldn't figure it out.

"Get your grenade launcher ready," Moss whispered to Poblede.

"Why?" she asked, startled.

"This is going too well," Moss warned. "There is no way this should be going this smoothly. We've got to be walking into an ambush of some sorts."

Poblede looked at him like he was an idiot. "I think you're being a bit paranoid Moss."

"Laws of combat Pip," Moss disagreed. "Article 3: if everything is going exactly as planned, then you're walking into an ambush." Poblede didn't look convinced so Moss added, "Just do it, just in case."

Shrugging to herself, Poblede slung her DMR over her shoulder and pulled out her grenade launcher.

Satisfied, Moss turned his attention back to Volkov. Volkov was sending one of the last teams over, consisting of Xanthus, Demirci, and two other men. They started to cross and things were going smoothly, when Xanthus tripped.

Moss sucked a huge breath of air as he flicked the safety off his rifle. Time seemed to slow down as he watched Xanthus fall to the ground and internally, Moss braced himself as he frantically worked out what he was going to do. The moment Xanthus hit the ground, Moss was going to whirl around the corner and begin hosing down the Covenant patrol before they could react, which would hopefully buy enough time for the rest of the unit to cross. Once that was accomplished, Moss would have Poblede fire a grenade into the hall, hopefully collapsing part of the doorway. Then they would leapfrog back, doing their best to keep the Covenant bottlenecked in the entrance while someone, Norén probably, rigged up an explosive device to cover their retreat. For a brief moment, Moss still wished he had that claymore from the subways as that would be a perfect weapon right now.

At any case, none of that turned out to be needed as a split second before Xanthus hit the ground, Demirci managed to reach out and grab Xanthus by his backpack and stop him. For a moment, both of the stood stock still in the corridor, Xanthus mere centimeters off the ground, before Demirci gently lowered him to the ground. Xanthus scrambled to his feet and both of them dashed over to safety.

Moss waited a few more moments, but when there were no alarms or gunshots ringing out, Moss let out a mute sigh of relief.

"Nice save," Moss murmured.

"Thanks," Demirci replied as Rabinowitz and Volkov, the last two to cross, came running up.

"Jacob, you alright?" Rabinowitz asked. But before Xanthus could respond, Volkov marched right up.

"Explain yourself Sergeant," he demanded.

"I tripped sir," Xanthus awkwardly explained.

"On what? There's nothing out there," Volkov growled. He leaned in. "You want to commit suicide Sergeant, do it on someone else's mission, not mine."

Xanthus jerked back and Rabinowitz opened his mouth, but Moss didn't get to hear what Rabinowitz was about to say as they were all distracted by the sight of a Grunt randomly walking into the gallery.

The moment the Grunt laid eyes on them, he let out a squeak of terror before grabbing his plasma pistol and bring it to bear, but Volkov was faster. Reacting faster than Moss could even process, Volkov grabbed his sidearm and fired from the hip, planting a single round between the Grunt's eyes.

As impressive as the shot was, Moss could only gape in horror over what Volkov had done. Volkov had fired a round from his pistol. The same pistol he had removed the suppressor from not even twenty minutes ago.

The gunshot echoed through the entire building and seemed to reverberate for hours, seemingly in mockery of their inability to keep quiet. Griffin then managed to surmise the spirit of the situation in one word: "Fuck."

A loud, shrill alarm began sounding through the building. Just outside the hall, thunderous footsteps could be heard as dozens of Covenant warriors began closing in on their location.

"Contact rear!" Norén screamed and promptly open fired on the first Covenant soldiers charging through the doorway.

Her gunfire seemed to snap everyone out of their stupefied state.

"We got to move, now!" Volkov bellowed. "Captain, cover!"

"Bravo on me!" Rabinowitz screamed, his rifle blazing. "Cover!"

Moss slid into cover behind a pedestal carrying a marble bust of some astronaut. Plasma fire shattered the statue, showering Moss with marble dust. He leaned around the pedestal and fired back at the Grunt, shooting him several times in the head, leaving a bloody mess. A Jackal, his bright orange shield extended in front of him, tried to force his way through the door frame, but the Grunt's body was in the way. The Jackal started to climb over the body and in the process, moved his shield away from his body just for a few seconds. However, those seconds were just enough time for Moss to put a hammered pair through the Jackal's chest. The Jackal toppled over backwards where he was practically trampled over by two Grunts trying to force their way through.

The firefight was pretty much unfolding the way Moss had predicted. The doorway was only large enough for the Covenant to send no more than two or three soldiers through, creating a fatal funnel. However, given the sheer mass of Covenant attacking them now, they would eventually get through. Plus, eventually someone smarter, like an Elite, would decide to make their own door and outflank them.

"Captain!" Moss hollered. "We need to pull back!"

"I agree!" Rabinowitz yelled back. "Can you block off the door?"

"Pip!"

Poblede stood up and fired a grenade right into the door frame. The metal frame buckled and part of the entrance collapsed. It didn't completely block the way, but it did constrict it enough so that only one person could enter at a time.

"Bravo fall back, Alpha cover!" Rabinowitz roared.

"No! They're going to cut us off, keep moving, KEEP MOVING!" Moss heard Volkov scream through his helmet's external speakers.

"Copy! Everybody, fall back now!"

Moss waited until his squad had pulled away before following suit. A few seconds after he left, something exploded behind him and Moss glanced back to see a hole had been blown into the wall; the Covenant had finally gotten their act together and made another entrance into the gallery to try and outflank them but it was too late as Moss and the others had already departed.

"Take this left, take this left!" Moss heard Volkov holler from the front of the group.

They tore out of the gallery and into the main hall, Moss blinking at the unexpected brightness. As he ran after the rest of the unit, he glanced behind him to see a number of Covenant soldiers in pursuit. Turning around, Moss fired a few shots in their direction, trying his best to keep them pinned down. But as he ran passed one of the entrances to another gallery, two Skirmishers leapt out at him.

Moss was able to duck under one of them, but the other knocked him right off his feet. Crashing onto the ground, Moss shoved the Skirmisher away from him and both quickly scrambled to their feet, but Moss was able to recover first. He slammed the butt of his rifle into the Skirmisher's face, knocking him back to the ground, but as Moss leaned over to finish him off, he felt the muzzle of a plasma pistol jab him in the side of his head. Standing behind the pistol was the other Skirmisher. But before the Skirmisher could pull the trigger, he took a plasma bolt to the face.

Moss whirled around. The Covenant forces behind him were firing down the corridor, either not knowing or not caring their comrades were mixed in among the humans. Dropping to one knee, Moss fired a few times before diving behind a nearby bench, which he promptly overturned for cover. A hole was instantly blown right through, indicating the wooden bench didn't make for good cover, but at this point, Moss figured anything was better than nothing.

Moss fired on the Covenant as someone from Xanthus' squad tossed a smoke grenade. As the smoke began to envelope the corridor, concealing them from Covenant eyes, Moss continued to fire at any Covenant soldier he saw until he felt the bolt on his rifle lock back. Ejecting the spent magazine, he reached for a fresh one, only to remember he had put the covers to his magazines pouches back on. He fumbled to unclasp them but, finding it almost impossible to do with one hand, was forced to lower his rifle to free up his other hand.

"Get on your feet soldier, we are leaving - hurk!"

Moss snapped his head up to see one of Xanthus' sergeants, Sergeant Jackson if he remembered correctly, take a plasma bolt to the arm. With his good arm, Jackson snapped his rifle up to return fire but was instantly hit by several more. He toppled over backwards, right at Moss' feet.

"Son of a bitch!" Moss yelled, abandoning his magazine pouches for now. He grabbed hold of Jackson and dragged him into cover. He reached for his IFAK to see what he could do, but Jackson was already dead. Unable to help a dead man, Moss instead removed Jackson's dog tags from his neck.

"Yahhhh!"

Something screamed and Moss looked up to see a Grunt charging out of the smoke, an active plasma grenade in either hand, running straight at him.

"Oh sh- !" Moss sputtered. He grabbed Jackson's rifle and pointed it at the Grunt, only to realize it had been hit by plasma fire at some point, rendering it useless.

In desperation, Moss hurtled the worthless hunk of plastic at the Grunt and frantically looked around for another weapon. Spotting the butt of an M45 tactical shotgun under Jackson's body, Moss ripped it out just as the Grunt recovered, and fired it straight from the hip.

Moss was a bit surprised when the shell hit the Grunt, even if it did blow off a leg and instead of blowing a hole in the Grunt's chest like he had hoped. The Grunt came crashing into the ground and slid to a stop right in front of Moss, the grenades spilling to the grounds.

Moss didn't have time to think, he just reacted. He shoved the bench over so it covered the grenades, scooped up his rifle and the shotgun, and booked it. He was only able to go so far before the static whine of the grenades exploding filled his ears, and he was thrown to the ground by the shockwave. Head spinning, he took stock. The bench had absorbed most of the blast, the explosion having vaporized both the Grunt and Jackson's body, and leaving a decent sized crater in the ground. Moss had been hit by some minor piece of the bench, but aside from that, he appeared to have managed to escape unharmed.

A pair of hands grabbed him and hauled him upright.

"Moss, we got to go!" Poblede yelled at him. "We're the last ones!"

"Yeah, yeah, fall back!" Moss agreed.

Poblede half dragged him down the rest of the corridor to a T-intersection. Griffin was crouched on the left, where the rest of the unit had gone down, laying down covering fire with his rifle. Moss slid to cover behind him.

"You got any grenades Griffin?" Moss yelled into his ear over the roar of his rifle.

"Yeah!"

"Poblede and Griffin, pop a couple of frags down the hall, slow them down," Moss ordered, bring the shotgun up to his shoulder. "I'll cover! Ready? Covering!"

Moss cycled the action and began firing down the hall as Griffin prepped a grenade. Knowing he didn't have any reloads, Moss fired slowly, as to conserve ammo as much as possible. While he fired, Moss made sure to pay attention to what color the shells casing were as it would tell him what type of ammo was loaded into the shotgun: red meant buckshot, white were breaching shells, blue were slugs and green were frag rounds. The shells were green.

"Grenade!" Griffin announced, tossing a grenade down into the corridor, with Poblede following it up with a couple forty mils from her M319.

"That's it, let's go!" Moss barked.

Unhooking his last white phosphorus grenade, Moss tossed it down the hall to slow the Covenant down before turning to follow Poblede. They ran down the length of the hall, which unexpectedly opened up to the museum cafeteria. The entrance to the cafeteria had already been blocked off by Rabinowitz and some of his men; using some tables, chairs, a salad bar, even some Covenant supply cases, they had created a barricade. Moss briefly wondered where they had gotten the Covenant supply cases from, but he didn't give it much more thought as he dove over the barricade and landed on the other side.

"Covenant are coming," Moss breathlessly reported.

Rabinowitz nodded. "We got it covered. We need you to go and take out that jammer." He gestured to the interior of the cafeteria.

It was at that point Moss became consciously aware of how cold it was in the cafeteria, standing in contrast to how warm the rest of the museum had been. It wasn't hard to figure the reason for the significant temperature change: covering the cafeteria had been a skylight, but at some point all the glass had been melted away by the Covenant, presumably to allow their forces entry into the museum, leaving the cafeteria exposed to the elements. And it was clearly the point of entry for the Covenant. Covenant supply cases were scattered all over the area, as well as a couple weapon racks. A comm relay had been deployed, and pintle mounted plasma cannons had been set up to defend the entrances, though they had already been commandeered by Rabinowitz's men. Finally, sitting in the middle of the room was the communication's jammer.

Moss stalked towards the jammer, walking over the Covenant bodies strewn about. Xanthus and one of his men were already at the jammer. Xanthus was busy pressing a bunch of random buttons on the holographic control panel to the side of the jammer.

"You see an off switch anywhere on your side Aykut?" Xanthus asked as he ineffectively jabbed a bunch of random buttons.

Aykut shook his head. "I got nothing Sarge. How the fuck does this thing work?"

"I have no fucking idea," Xanthus snarled, clearly frustrated. "Fuck this. How come I can somehow press a few buttons on my computer back at home and accidently cause it to break, but when I actually want to do the same thing here, I suddenly can't?"

Gunfire suddenly rang out from Rabinowitz's barricade, and Moss grabbed a hold of Xanthus and shoved him aside.

"Move guys," Moss barked, leveling his shotgun.

He fired his shotgun into the side of the jammer. Two shells cause an outer panel to buckle and bend, allowing Moss to rip it off the jammer. He then fired another three shells into the interior of the jammer, the frag rounds making a loud _POP_ noise as they exploded, chewing up the fragile looking electronics on the inside. The jammer began sputtering and sparks started to fly out before there was a loud _BANG_ , and the jammer shut down. The effects were almost instantaneous. The static Moss didn't realize he'd been hearing over his radio suddenly disappeared, leaving the airways clear.

" _That did it,"_ Volkov announced over SQUADCOM. _"Now let's get the hell out of here."_

" _We've got Covenant closing in from all entrances,"_ Rabinowitz warned. _"We're boxed in! Do we have an exit?"_

" _Engineers are working on one right now."_

Moss jerked in surprise. They were? He looked around before spotting Volkov standing over Norén and Roer as they worked on placing an explosive charge on the back wall. He jogged over to them to see if he could help.

"Sergeant, give me the bladder to your hydration pack," Norén request as soon as he arrived.

Moss quickly began shedding his equipment to get access to the bag as he asked, "What's up?"

"According to my map, this wall leads to the outside," Volkov replied. "Blow a hole through it so we can get the fuck out of here."

"Right. But I need to direct most of the explosive force against the wall to make that work," Norén explain as she took the bladder Moss offered her. "Don't have a shaped charge so..."

"A water impulse charge instead," Moss finished. "Good thinking."

"It's not like I haven't done this before Sergeant," Norén drily pointed out.

"Yes, you have, haven't you," Volkov neutrally noted.

Moss glanced at him but Norén finished attaching the explosive device to the wall before anything else could be said.

"You might want to back up," Norén suggest, lifting the detonator. "Fire in the hole!"

The ground shook as the bomb exploded, taking a good chunk of the wall with it. Brick and masonry were blasted outwards and when the dust settled, a rough hole had been formed in the wall, leading to the outside.

"We got our exit!" Volkov announced. "Right here!" And without another look back, Volkov tossed himself out the hole.

"Everybody, fall back!" Moss yelled. "Norén, Roer, on me! We'll cover!"

With that, Moss dove behind a table, knocking it over to provide some cover. While there, he slung his shotgun over his shoulder and prepped his rifle.

"Let's go, hurry up!" Moss barked as the soldiers streamed passed him. He spotted movement at one of the recently vacated barricade. "Contact!"

He open fired. Rounds bounced off the top of the barricade as the figure Moss had spotted ducked, avoiding all of Moss' bullets. He kept up the fire though, trying to keep the Covenant pinned down as to prevent them from shooting back. Beside him, he could hear Roer opening up with his SAW. Between the two of them, they managed to keep the Covenant back long enough for everyone else to retreat.

"Last man!" Rabinowitz yelled, slapping Moss on the shoulder as he ran passed.

"Roer, Norén, fall back!" Moss ordered as he maintained his fire. He mentally counted to five before diving through the hole.

Moss was completely caught off guard when he found himself falling a couple of meters to the ground. He had no idea how or when they had made it to the second floor of the building, but fortunately as he was about to hit the ground, his paratrooper training kicked in and as he landed, he reflexively collapsed his legs to absorb the impact. The half meter of snow that lightly covered the ground helped too.

Staggering upright, Moss found himself in an alleyway of sorts. The footprints in the snow indicated where his unit had gone so Moss quickly chased after them, trying to clear the area before the Covenant arrived. But as he reached the mouth of the alley, Norén grabbed him.

"I need your shotgun!" she declared.

Before Moss could say anything, she yanked the weapon from Moss' back and leveled it down the alleyway, back where they had come from. Moss could see her aiming at the hole in the wall they had made, and he finally noticed the cluster of frag grenades Norén had shoved in one of the cinder blocks in the side of the hole, probably when she had retreated. Moss raised his rifle to cover her as she fired a shell directly at the grenades.

Under normal circumstances, shooting a grenade wouldn't do anything except damage the casing. For safety purposes, grenades simply wouldn't explode if hit by a mere bullet. However, if hit by another explosive, even something as small as an M45 tactical shotgun frag round, it was usually enough to cause a sympathetic detonation.

There was a small flash, just barely visible to the naked eye, as the frag round hit the side of one of the grenades and blew up upon impact. Coincidently, at that exact moment, an Elite Major just so happened to poke his head out of the hole. The Elite had just enough time to level his plasma rifle at Moss and Norén before the M9 fragmentation grenades violently detonated.

A violent shockwave ripped right through the alleyway, catching Moss by surprise. He was knocked off his feet and half-buried in snow by the time the shockwave dissipated. Shaking himself off, he retrieved his rifle and glanced back down the alley. The Elite was gone, as was the hole they had made, both having been buried under the partial collapse of the wall. The damage was far more devastating than a couple of frag grenades could have done on their own, which made Moss wonder if the Elite had been carrying some plasma grenades that were inadvertently triggered by the explosion, but whatever the case was, their rear was secured. Grinning in satisfaction, Moss glanced over at Norén.

"Well, that should slow them down," he announced.

"That was the idea," Norén noted. She picked herself off the ground and handed the shotgun back to Moss. "They're not trapped in the building by any means though, so we should disappear while we still have the chance."

"I agree."

They chased after the others, catching up to them taking shelter in a small building three blocks away.

"Major, all survivors present and accounted for," Rabinowitz announce as Moss and Norén entered the building.

Volkov depolarized his visor, letting Moss see his face was covered in just as much sweat as everyone else was.

"Lightning-7, 3 Charlie," Moss heard Volkov say over the radio. "Authentication code Alpha Zulu three one one. Priority one fire mission. How copy, over?"

Moss didn't hear a response, but it was clear Volkov was feeding the radio to his own headset because he said, "Lightning-7, I need you to level target building at grid location Echo Mike seven three six, six five one, two eight two. I say again, I need to you completely destroy the Byzas Space Museum. Use whatever munitions you've got, over"

Volkov suddenly frowned. "Lightning-7, say again your last? I think I lost you for a moment there, over."

Moss felt a chill go down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold as Volkov lapsed into several long moments of silence.

"Are you fucking kidding me Lightning-7?" Volkov suddenly exploded, catching Moss by surprise as he threw out just about every military radio communication protocol in existence. "How fucking hard is it to pick up a fucking map, point your fucking missiles at the target building, and push a motherfucking button? Don't be giving me this fucking bullshit Lightning-7, over."

A look of absolute fury passed over Volkov's face. "Well thank you fucking much," Volkov snapped. "I'll let you know when it's done, you fucking prick. 3-Charlie, out."

Volkov jabbed the side of his helmet where his microphone controls were, and let a half-choked snarl.

"Den, is everything alright?" Rabinowitz cautiously asked. Volkov snorted.

"This useless fucking Squids(4) need us to plant a beacon at the building for their missile to lock on too because otherwise, they can't target the building," Volkov bitterly announced.

Rabinowitz gaped at him. "We just left the building."

"I know," Volkov said. He took a deep breath and released it slowly. "It doesn't matter though," he continued, his voice calmer now. "We need to do it." He polarized his visor before abruptly turning to Xanthus. "Sergeant Xanthus, I need two volunteers."

Xanthus jumped and Moss could only stare sympathetically as a panicked look passed over Xanthus' face.

"Major," Rabinowitz began.

"Shut up Captain," Volkov snapped without even looking at him. "Sergeant, give me two soldiers."

Moss noticed Xanthus glancing at Rabinowitz, but Rabinowitz could only shake his head.

"Yes sir," Xanthus finally said. "Guys, I need two volunteers to run back to the museum and plant a beacon. Raise your hand if you can do it."

No one raised their hand. In fact, everyone seemed to be studiously avoiding Xanthus' gaze. A desperate look passed over Xanthus' face. "I need somebody," he said.

No one said a word. Xanthus glanced at Volkov.

"No one is volunteering," he announced, his voice sounding half-pleading.

"Then _pick_ them," Volkov said, as if that were the most obvious thing in the world.

With a stricken look on his face, Xanthus looked around the room, but there was no reprieve for him. He continued to scan the room until his eyes fell upon the corner Moss and his squad had gathered and stopped. Moss could almost see the wheels turning and he could almost hear Xanthus' thoughts: did he choose two soldiers from his badly depleted platoon made up of men he had fought and bleed with for the last few months? Or did he select two soldiers from the mostly intact sapper detachment, consisting of complete strangers? In the end, there really wasn't any choice and while it pissed Moss off to no end, he couldn't really find the heart to blame Xanthus; if the roles were reversed, Moss would probably have done the same thing. Which is why he knew exactly what he had to do.

"I'll do it."

The words were out of his mouth before he even realized, but once they were out, Moss was committed. Standing straighter, Moss pushed his way to the front and repeated, "Give me the beacon. I'll go."

"Moss," he heard Poblede hiss, but he ignored her.

A grateful look passed over Xanthus' face before he finally said, "Ramirez, go with him."

"What?" Ramirez immediately protested. "Why do I have to go?"

Xanthus sighed. "Because you're dependable," he said rather lamely.

"What the _fuck_..."

"Sergeant Shen, you're in charge of this mission," Volkov announced, cutting Ramirez off. He handed Moss a small data disc. "Get this beacon within the premise of the building, and then get back here. To activate it, press this button here." He turned the data disc so Moss could see the button in question. "Once you activate it, there's about a thirty second delay, then it begins emitting a high frequency pulse to which the missile can lock onto. You don't need to worry about getting it too far into the building; as long as it gets inside, there's enough explosive power in those cruise missiles that as long as the Squids fire enough of them, the building will collapse. Now those subs are firing the standard 'Pilum' hypersonic cruise missiles. At those speeds, you've got about thirty seconds to clear the area before they start to hit. We'll hover around in the area to wait for you, but if you're not back in seven minutes, we're gone. Do you understand Sergeant?"

"Sir, yes sir," Moss barked.

"We'll engage some of the Covenant patrols, try to draw them away and create a hole for you two to slip passed," Rabinowitz unexpectedly announce.

"Captain..." Volkov began.

"We _will_ engage some of those patrols," Rabinowitz insisted. "After all, we _all_ want this mission to succeed, don't we Major?"

"Absolutely," Volkov ceded after a few moments.

"Glad we're in agreement," Rabinowitz said, somehow managing to sound sincere. "You two, get ready."

"Sir."

Moss turned to his squad and immediately confronted with an irate Poblede.

"What the hell are you doing?" Poblede demanded to know.

"My job?" Moss awkwardly replied.

"Really? Point out the exact section in the military manual where it says this is part of your responsibilities as a combat engineer. Seriously, I don't get you. One moment you're talking about how you think you're going to kick it, and how you're afraid to die, and then the next moment you're volunteering for this shit. What is going on? Are you trying to be a hero or something?" she demanded to know.

"Didn't we already have a similar conversation like this a couple of weeks ago on Newsaka?" Moss asked, scratching his head, trying to remember. It was hard; with the cryo sleep and now today's events, Moss was having a hard time keep his dates straight.

"Clearly _nothing_ from that conversation stuck."

"Look Pip," Moss said with a sigh. "Either one of us volunteered, or two of us got voluntold. I don't know about you, but I'd rather it just be one of us who has to go through this."

"Yeah? Then why did it have to be you?" Poblede stubbornly insisted.

"Because I'm in charge, that's why," Moss snapped. "Lancelot made me the boss, and if there's one thing I learned from Ferguson and Tanner before him, it's: 'never ask someone to do something you wouldn't do yourself.'"

Poblede growled, but the mentioning of their last two squad leaders seemed to have taken the wind out of her sails. Taking advantage of her silence, Moss turned to the rest of his squad, who'd been silently watching the argument unfold.

"Norén, take this," Moss ordered, shedding his assault pack full of explosives and handed it over to her, as well as all the grenades he was carrying. He handed his ammo and rifle over to Roer, leaving only his armor and shotgun. "Griffin, give me six shells please."

"You know that model shotgun can carry up to twelve shells in the tube magazine, right?" Roer pointed out as Moss loaded his weapon.

"I know. I'd rather not waste any resources; just need enough to get by."

"Fair enough."

"Here Sergeant, take this," Norén said, handing him a length of braided cord attached to what looked like a blasting cap.

"Is this a necklace?" Moss asked, looking at it.

"It's detonation cord," Norén informed him and Moss almost dropped the thing in shock. "Wear it around your neck. In case you go down and you don't want to be taken alive. Though I'd wait until someone got close. Explosion is big enough to take at least one other person out."

Moss gingerly handled the device. "Seems kind of barbaric," he commented.

"So is murdering children," Norén pointed out. "So is destroying planets. Covenant crossed the line first. Maybe it's time you stopped thinking like a UNSC soldier, and started thinking like a Separatist."

Moss nodded. Removing his dog tags and handing them over to Poblede, Moss placed the device around his neck, tucking it under his shirt to keep it safe. "Is this thing safe to wear?" Moss couldn't help but ask.

Norén shrugged. "Separatist do it all the time," she admitted.

"Good to know." Moss said, hefting his shotgun. He was about as ready as he ever was. "Guess I'll see you guys later?" he said, somewhat hopefully.

"Eh. Probably not," Griffin cheerfully replied. Moss snorted.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"What?" Griffin asked, sounding genuinely confused. "Everybody has got to die sometime. What makes you so different?"

Moss found he had no answer to that, and was saved from having to respond when Rabinowitz called out, "Sergeant Shen, Private Ramirez. You guys ready?"

Moss nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"Okay, you two stay here. We'll draw the Covenant out, make you a hole. Platoon, on me! Move out!"

A dozen clicks filled the air as safeties were removed. Moss stepped aside to allow his squad to trickle out of the building. Before leaving Poblede gave him a quick hug, but left without another word. Moss watched them leave. Soon, it was only him and Ramirez left.

"I hate being dependable man," Ramirez complained as he ejected the magazine from his rifle. He glanced at it before tapping the edge against the side of his helmet and inserting it back into his rifle. "I got twenty rounds. You?"

"Six shells," Moss reported. "Hey listen Ramirez. Our top priority is to make sure this thing gets delivered." He held up the data disc. "That means, we need to keep moving, no matter what. Even if the other guy goes down. You understand what I'm telling you?"

"Yes Sarnt," Ramirez grimly replied. "Hopefully it won't come to that."

"Yeah, me too."

The sound of gunfire ripped through the air. Moss waited for a minute as the gunfire grew in intensity before turning to Ramirez. "Move out."

Without another word, they tore out of the building and began the dash down the street, back towards the museum at top speeds, all the while gunfire continued to roar behind them. They didn't encounter any Covenant on the street; clearly Rabinowitz's distraction was working. Mentally hoping his squad remained safe, Moss tucked his head down and ran a bit faster.

They made it down the three blocks in record time. Skipping passed the alley they had first emerged from, they rounded the corner and found one of the entrances to the museum. Several Grunts and an Elite were guarding the entrance, but they were clearly surprised to see Moss and Ramirez running right at them because none of them even bother to raise a finger to stop them; they all watched Moss and Ramirez run right by them. As they passed them, Moss could hear the Elite start to scream out orders.

Sprinting up some steps, they charged the doors to the museum. Moss lifted his shotgun and blasted the door and then ran right through shattered glass without stopping or even slowing down. Ramirez didn't even bother to do that: he threw his body at the glass door and rammed his way through.

Inside, Moss nearly came to a screeching halt upon seeing what laid ahead of them in the lobby: at least a half a dozen Elites surrounded by a dozen Jackals and Skirmishers, and maybe three dozen Grunts. Why there were so many Covenant gathered in one spot, Moss had no idea, but as they burst through the doors, all the Covenant in the lobby simultaneously turned to face them. Faced with that many guns, Moss knew there was only one way to survive. He was half tempted to drop a witty one-liner, but he couldn't think of anything and even if he could, he would be completely out of breath to say it. Instead, he charged straight at the biggest, meanest looking Elite of the group.

The Elite saw him coming and quickly braced himself. But instead of hitting the Elite head on, Moss caught the Elite off guard by stopping just in front of him. Jamming the barrel of his shotgun under the Elite's chin, Moss fired straight up.

Moss was fully expecting to have to fire a couple shells into the Elite to penetrate his shield, and was thus pleasantly surprised when the Elite's head disintegrated under the first shot. He wasn't given much time to ponder about his good fortune as the gunshot seemed to have woken the rest of the Covenant, and a ton of weapons began to get drawn.

Moss whirled around and fired at another Elite, hoping his good luck would last. It didn't, as a Grunt accidently stepped in the way and caught half of the buckshot pellets, ripping part of his face away. The other half of the pellets were absorbed by the Elite's shield, who responded by whipping out his plasma rifle and returning fire.

Except Moss was no longer there, having stepped to the side to drive the butt of his shotgun into the face of another Grunt. The burst of plasma shot by Moss and hit another Elite behind him, who let out an agonizing scream of pain as the plasma rapidly disabled his shields and burned right through his armor and into his flesh. Evidently, even Elite armor wasn't strong enough to stand up against their own weapons.

The first Elite stared at his fallen comrade in shock, giving Moss enough time to yank a plasma grenade from the Grunt's belt. Moss fumbled with the grenade for a bit, before somehow managing to activate it. He hastily hurtled it at the Elite who, at this range, was unable to dodge. It was at that moment, Moss also realized he was well within the blast radius of said grenade.

Reacting quickly, Moss grabbed a nearby Jackal with an active energy shield and shoved him in front of him, trying to use the Jackal as a meat shield. It sort of worked; as the plasma grenade exploded, the Jackal was able to shield Moss from all of the shrapnel, however Moss was still knocked back on his ass by the shockwave.

His head spinning, Moss sat back up to see the entire lobby had descended into chaos. All the Grunts in the group had panicked and had started firing in all directions, regardless of who was around. Green plasma bolts crisscrossed the lobby hitting everything: the walls, the ceiling, the displays, even their fellow Covenant. The few Elites still alive were attempting to restore order but the Grunts were too far gone for that. In the end, the Elites resorted to shooting the Grunts in order to get them to stop, but that only made things worse as it made the Grunts panic even more.

In the midst of all this chaos, Moss had dropped back down to the ground and begun crawling away, doing his best to avoid getting stepped on. He wasn't entirely successful: a Jackal, his head tucked under his shield, accidently stepped on Moss' leg, preventing him from wiggling away. In retaliation, Moss pointed his shotgun over his shoulder and fired, jerking his head away as he was splattered with blood.

A pair of hands grabbed him. Startled, Moss reacted by pointing his shotgun at the figure and pulling the trigger. However he hadn't cycled the action yet and there was a mute _click_ as the hammer dropped on an empty chamber. Fortunately it did because it turned out to be Ramirez who had grabbed him.

Looking surprisingly calm despite his near death experience, Ramirez hauled Moss to his feet and dragged him out of the lobby.

"How far do we have to go before we plant this thing?" he asked, breathlessly.

Moss activated the data disc and hurtled it as far into the building as he possibly could. "This is far enough. Come on, we need get out here."

Moss turned to run back through the lobby but Ramirez stopped him. "We just going to run right through the lobby again?" he asked, surprised.

"Last thing they'd expect," Moss yelled back.

Inside the lobby, the Elites were just getting the Grunts back under control when Moss and Ramirez rushed back in, guns blazing, setting them off again.

"3 Charlie Actual, this is," Moss began to rattle off into his radio as he ran, before realizing they hadn't actually establish proper radio call signs.

"Beacon is live!" Moss yelled, hoping Volkov would understand.

Abandoning his radio, Moss targeted one of remaining Elites and fired. His first shot was absorbed by the Elite's shield but the second one disabled it. Before Moss could finish the Elite off, Ramirez pumped three rounds in the Elite's chest, killing him. So instead, Moss firing a shell at a nearby Skirmisher, but missed. Moss pulled the trigger again, but he was out of ammo so Moss swung his shotgun like it was a bat. He actually missed as the Skirmisher ducked under the blow, and accidently hit a nearby Grunt instead, knocking him over.

Leaping over the fallen Grunt, Moss tossed his shotgun away and ran for the door. And then, just like that, they were clear of the building. But they weren't safe just yet. The same group of Covenant soldiers they had initially blown passed were still there, only this time they were prepared.

Moss cleared the door and noticed an armored fist coming straight at his face. He was just barely able to duck out of the way but Ramirez, who was right behind him and unable to see to blow coming, wasn't. He took the full punch to the face and went crashing to the ground.

Moss immediately went on the offensive, punching the Elite several times in the stomach. For his troubles, Moss took an elbow to the face. It was hardly a heavy blow, but it still felt like getting hit in the face by a metal pipe. Stars exploded in Moss' vision and he stumbled backwards, tripped, and tumbled down the stairs, landing in a heap at the bottom.

A Grunt immediately tried to jump him, but Moss managed to rip the gas mask off the Grunt's face, leaving him gasping. Moss looked up to see the Elite had grabbed Ramirez by the neck and lifted him up until they were eye to eye.

"You are so **weak** human," the Elite sneered.

"And you're one ugly motherfucker(5)," Moss heard Ramirez rasped through broken teeth. He raised his hand to reveal a primed grenade.

Before Moss could react, the grenade exploded, throwing both Ramirez and the Elite to the ground. Charging up the staircase, Moss dropped to the ground next to Ramirez but Moss didn't even need to check for a pulse as Ramirez was clearly dead; his brains were scattered across the pavement.

"Shit," Moss muttered as his fished out Ramirez's tags from around his shattered neck. Moss stared to run away, but something grabbed his leg, preventing him from leaving. Moss glanced behind him and was surprised to see the Elite, severally wounded but not yet dead, clinging onto him.

"Your Demons can't save you now," the Elite defiantly spat out.

"Whatever," Moss snarled, shaking his leg free. "Just fucking die already." He raised his leg and stomped the Elite right in the neck with as much force as possible, finally killing him.

The Grunts scattered but Moss knew he didn't have much time to pursue them. He ran straight back to where he started, hoping the Covenant were too busy to track him.

Moss had just cleared the first block when he felt the first missile hit. The ground shook, causing Moss to stumble, but he was able to catch himself by grabbing onto a nearby sign post. He looked back to see a massive plume of smoke rising from the direction of the museum. A couple of Covenant Phantoms were descending from the sky towards the museum, inserting reinforcements or extracting the forces already on the ground, Moss had no idea and frankly, didn't care. He just glad those subs apparently decide to hit the far side of the museum first and work their way towards the beacon as, with each warhead carrying up to 250 kilograms worth of explosives, if that missile had hit any closer, Moss would have been torn to shreds by the shockwave. As it were, now Moss had just enough time to reach safe distance.

He ran down the street but couldn't see any signs of where his squad had gone. Hearing the scream of Banshees overhead, Moss ducked into a nearby alley. Someone grabbed him and Moss, still hyped up from his fight against the Covenant, reflexively socked the figure in the face.

"Ow! Motherfucker! Is this because I told you I didn't think you were going to make it?"

It was Griffin.

"Griffin," Moss said, panting. "Where the hell is everybody?"

"This way," Griffin said, rubbing his nose. He led Moss further into the alley and into one of the buildings where the rest of the unit had gathered, looking battered, but alive.

"Sergeant, report!" Volkov barked the moment Moss entered.

"Mission accomplished sir," Moss tiredly reported.

Xanthus looked around. "Where's Ramirez?" he worriedly asked.

Moss shook his head. "He didn't make it," Moss simply reported. As he did, he suddenly realized he was shaking. Whether it was out of fear, the cold, or simply adrenaline, Moss wasn't sure but he suddenly felt so exhausted he could barely stand. He leaned against the wall and allowed himself to slide to the ground. He reach for his hydration pack tube to get a sip of water, only to remember he had given the bladder to Norén and he no longer had any water. He merely sighed in annoyance.

In the meantime, a devastated look had appeared on Xanthus' face but Volkov had merely nodded, as if that was what he expected.

"It was a tough assignment," Volkov said. "That's why I asked for volunteers. Unfortunately, these things happen, and while I would love to be able to take a moment to mourn our losses," Volkov climbed to his feet and checked his rifle, "We can't. Everybody on your feet! We moving out."

Everyone just stared at him.

"Major," Rabinowitz spoke up, "Could we at least have a moment to reorganize and take stock?"

"No," Volkov bluntly said. "We've already wasted enough time Captain, and because of our constant engagement of Covenant patrols," he pointedly paused, "the enemy knows exactly where we are. On your feet! Captain Rabinowitz, command your men."

Rabinowitz wearily sighed. "Yes sir," he finally said. "You heard the Major. Everybody on your feet, we're moving out."

Moss exhaustedly staggered upright. Taking a moment to recover his gear from Norén and Poblede, Moss mindlessly followed the rest of his squad out the door. Explosions echoed through the street as the missiles continued to level the museum. Moss supposed a great victory had just been achieved but instead of feeling triumph, he just felt tired. When was it all going to end? When were they going to finally be able to go home? And what was ultimately going to be the cost?

They marched further into the heart of the city as the sound of explosions continued to rock the earth behind them.

* * *

1\. Mud cruncher: mostly an archaic term now, it originate from World War I as a nickname for the infantry

2\. _Aliens_

3\. The "Look clear… not clear" sequence was taken from the 2000 sci-fi film _Pitch Black_

4\. Squid: another nickname for someone in the Navy

5\. _Predator_

General Notes

\- The name Ramirez was chosen because of the "Ramirez, do everything" meme. Except, this story isn't about Ramirez, so he didn't get to survive. Sorry Ramirez.


	6. Chapter 5

Author's Note: Well this is kind of exciting. This is now officially the longest story I ever written. Sort of. Actually I might have passed that point two chapters ago, but I wasn't paying attention. This is, however, the furthest I've ever gotten in this story out of all the drafts I've ever written. So yay, milestone! Honestly, I had my doubts I would ever get to this point, but here I am. Thank you to those who have left reviews, favs, follows, and everyone else who have stuck with me so far. It's a great feeling knowing that people are not only reading my work, but actually enjoying it. So hat's off to you all.

Special thanks to Guy727 for his review he left last chapter. That's an interesting point about the general lack of a robotic force in the UNSC's arsenal. I'll admit, I've never really given it much thought but then again, advance technology is not really my forte. Just off the top of my head though, AIs in the Halo Universe are shown to degrade after some time, so it's possible the UNSC made a conscious choice to limit their unmanned war vehicles to prevent a rampant AI from killing a bunch of people. Also, if I remember correctly, it's shown a couple of times in the extended universe that ships like the Longsword can be piloted remotely, so it's possible all vehicles in the UNSC arsenal are designed to allow unmanned usage, but with manual controls so that a human could override the AI in the event of an emergency situation, i.e. the AI going rogue. I don't know, I'd have to think about it further but it's an interesting thought!

Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. Thanks for stopping by!

* * *

 **Chapter 5  
**

 **Factory District, Byzas, Thracia Province, Actium  
** **May 6, 2545  
1700**

Moss wearily walked down the road, scanning the buildings that surrounded them. It had been maybe an hour since they had left the museum behind and the explosions in the distance had long since died out. Moss hoped that meant the museum was gone and they no longer had to worry about it. Not that they could actually double back to finish the job if it was still standing, but it would have been nice to have actually accomplished something useful.

Since leaving the museum, they had managed to avoid running into anymore Covenant patrols. That was good in some ways because Moss was running dangerously low on ammo, having barely three quarters of a single magazine left and he knew his squad was in a similar state. Yet, at the same time, it was kind of bad because without the constant injection of adrenaline into his body, Moss was beginning to feel the day's events catching up with him. He was slowing down, and the freezing temperatures weren't helping matters at all. Furthermore, it had begun to snow some twenty minutes ago; light stuff, flurries really, but it was enough that the snow was beginning to soak into his uniform.

Moss longed for the chance to go inside, to rest and warm up for a bit, even just for a few minutes, but Moss knew Volkov wouldn't let them; instead, he continued to urge them forward. Part of Moss understood why: despite having been in this part of the city for who knows how long, Moss having long since lost track, it felt like they were still no closer to their objective than they were this morning. Every minute they wasted resting was another minute the Covenant would have to find the satellite before they did.

At the same time, Moss couldn't stop the feeling of resentment towards Volkov. None of them had asked to partake in this stupid mission; it had been forced on them. All of them had already been worn out by the fighting on Newsaka so they were already fighting the exhaustion from that campaign. Everything they had been through so far this morning was just adding to their deficit of energy and motivation. Volkov had to have known that and the fact he was choosing to ignore those signs just made him seem like either an incompetent commander, or one who simply didn't care for the wellbeing of the soldiers under his command. Neither option was all that good in Moss' opinion.

Then there was the growing anger at Volkov among the rest of the men. The museum fight had been fairly costly, not just physically but emotionally. The firefight had cost the lives of six men, including Ramirez, leaving an already battered unit in complete disarray. But worst yet, one of their own had gone missing in action: Doc Falco was completely unaccounted for, having disappeared at some point during the frantic retreat from the museum and no one was sure how. Given how disorganized their retreat had been, any number of things could have happened but in the end, the result would be the same: if Falco had been in or anywhere near the premises of the museum, there was a very high probability he had been killed in the ensuring missile strike.

Moss couldn't help but feel guilty about the entire situation. He had been at the rear for most of the retreat, as well as having been the very last person to leave the museum before it was destroyed. How had he not noticed Falco wasn't with them? Upon learning Falco was missing, Moss had racked his brain, trying to remember when was the last time he had even seen Falco, but had come up short. Things had just been moving too fast and Moss had ended up making assumptions; assumptions with lethal consequences evidently, as now, not only were they short six fighting men, they had also lost their only qualified combat medic.

As it often happened after an event such as this, there was plenty of blame and resentment being thrown about. Moss would have thought he would have received some of the backlash because technically, he was the one to plant the beacon that ultimately caused the missile strike to occur. But, to his mild surprise, no one really did. Instead, all the anger and blame was directed at Volkov and Moss could see why. After all, it was Volkov who had ordered them to participate in this poorly planned mission in the first place. It was Volkov who continually insisted they rush through the city to their objective without taking the time to reorganize or take proper stock after a firefight. And it was Volkov who was preventing them from returning to the museum to look for any signs of Falco.

On that last point, though he would never admit it out loud, Moss couldn't do anything but agree with Volkov's decision. It sounded callous, but truth be told, Moss just didn't see the point in going back. At this point, Falco was either dead or he wasn't. If he was dead, then there was nothing Moss or the others could do to bring him back to life. If Falco was still alive though, there was _still_ nothing Moss and the others would be able to do. At this point, what was left of the museum was probably swarming with Covenant soldiers, looking for survivors of their own. There was no way fifteen underequipped and exhausted soldiers would be able to mount an assault on even a small Covenant patrol to recover one man. While the practice of 'never leaving a man behind' was a very noble goal, the devastating damage the Covenant had inflicted on humanity in the last twenty years made it impossible to put that policy into practice.

Of course, Moss had to acknowledge that it was extremely easy for him to sit back and think those thoughts. After all, he had been extremely lucky so far; by some miracle, despite having been in the thick of all the fighting, none of his men were among the dead or missing. If the situation was different, if say, it was Poblede who was missing, Moss was sure he would be tearing this city apart looking for her right now. As it were though, because none of the men under his command had been killed yet, Moss was pretty reluctant to risk that. While statistically speaking it was only a matter of time before someone kicked it, Moss was in no hurry to allow that to happen. Unfortunately, he knew it wasn't up to him.

Moss suppressed a depressed sigh and turned his attention back his task of scanning the area. They were now officially in the factory district, having reached the border at roughly the same time it had started snowing. Office complexes and commercial buildings had given way to squat warehouses and factories, and four lane asphalt roads had given way to much wider concrete streets, with train tracks crossing all over the place. Unlike the places they had been before, this part of the city had clearly been the site of some heavy fighting. Signs of battle were everywhere. The roads were choke full of destroyed vehicles, both military and civilian, as well as the occasional aircraft that had been shot out of the sky. The buildings surrounding them were full of craters and bullet holes, if the walls were even still standing. Some of the buildings were completely gone; either having been bombed out of existence or burned to the ground. There also didn't seem to be a single pane of intact glass anywhere in the general vicinity.

Complementing the destruction were of course, all the bodies. Dozens, hundreds even, of human corpses littered the area. Some were sitting upright in their cars, their dead hands still clutching the steering wheels. Others were lying out in the open, their bodies forever contorted in the poses they had adopted when they died. Others still were just parts; blown apart and shredded by explosions, leaving behind only pieces of what had once been a human being. A finger here. A leg there. Part of a head splatter against the wall. It was all rather gruesome and Moss was somewhat grateful for the snow as it covered the worst of the bodies and helped hide the rancid stench of death in the air.

But, without doubt, the only thing worse than all the bodies were the bodies of the children.

Moss was hardly the blushing virgin he'd been just prior to deploying to Newsaka. Back then, the mere sight of blood would have left him sick to his stomach. But after two months of brutal ground warfare, Moss had gotten used to seeing bodies torn apart in some of the most gruesome and creative ways. He had to harden up; it was, after all, the nature of the business. But despite this, the sight of a dead child still left him shaken down to his very core. To see their little bodies bloodied and cut to ribbons. To see their cherubic faces twisted into some sort of demonic mockery of what a child should look like. To see such innocence shattered in such a cruelly casual way.

However, if there was one comfort in all this destruction Moss could take solace in, it was the fact that despite being out-numbered, out-gunned, and completely caught off-guard, the defenders of Actium had caused the Covenant to suffer just as much as they had. It seemed for every three human corpses laying on the ground, there was at least one Covenant body stacked on top of them. Granted, most of those bodies were the corpses of Grunts or Jackals, but occasionally they would come across the shredded form of an Elite warrior, or on a couple of occasions, the hulking forms of Covenant Hunters.

Furthermore, about half the fires that lit up the horizon were clearly from Covenant vehicles. Blue fires burned merrily, lighting up the surrounding environment and casting eerie shadows in all directions. War machines from every part of the Covenant Empire decorated the landscape: Ghost reconnaissance vehicles, Shadow transport vehicles, Wraith assault gun carriages, anti-air Wraiths, and Banshee multi-role fighters, all blown to bits, often with their former operators lying face down on the ground nearby. There was even an entire Seraph that had crashed landed in a surprisingly intact state except for the gaping hole where the cockpit used to be. Probably the result of a land based Mark 2488 "Onager" mass driver.

But, aside from all that, the theme of all the destruction seemed to be mass human casualties.

 _RATATATAT!_

A series of projectiles slammed into the truck next to Moss, causing a _THUNK_ sound with every hit. Moss reflexively dove for cover behind the truck, seeking shelter behind the engine and finding himself next to Norén.

"Contact!" Moss hoarsely called out a few moments later, as an afterthought.

" _What direction?"_ he heard Rabinowitz asked over SQUADCOM from his position some fifteen meters back.

"Uh," Moss hesitantly replied as he realize he hadn't been paying enough attention to notice.

"We got shot at from direction two-forty," Norén reported.

Moss consulted his compass. "Two-forty... really?" Moss exclaimed as he realize that meant they had received fire from their nine o'clock position, which was not even close to the direction he was thinking. "You sure about that?"

"I've been shot at enough times to be able to determine what direction gunfire is coming from, Sergeant," Norén snapped.

"Okay," Moss said apologetically. He raised his rifle and pointed it the indicated direction, but Norén quickly grabbed the barrel.

"Easy there cowboy," she hiss as she lowered his rifle. "Those were friendlies."

"They didn't seem very friendly to me."

"Those were gunshots from a standard MA37 assault rifle," Norén explained. "So unless the Covenant have started to use our weapons, which is doubtful, those were friendly force taking potshots at us."

Moss couldn't help be a bit skeptical and it clearly showed because Norén let out an annoyed sigh and gestured at the damage to the truck caused by the weapons fire. Once he checked, Moss realized Norén was right: instead of burn marks as would be expected by plasma fire, there were clearly bullet holes punched into the aluminum.

"Everyone, hold your fire," Moss called over SQUADCOM. "We think that may have been friendlies who had shot at us."

Turning away from his radio, Moss glanced at Norén. "What do you think we should do now?"

Norén shrugged. "Tell them to stop wasting ammo on us."

"Okay. Um, how do I do that?"

Norén stared at him like he was an idiot. "Try talking to them Sergeant," she said slowly, as if he were a child.

"Oh. Right," Moss replied, a bit embarrassed. He looked around until he caught Poblede's eyes. He gestured for her to cover him, and then he stood up until he was half-crouched, half-standing; just enough for him to yell over the top of the truck.

"Hey!" Moss called out, and the paused once he realize he had no idea what else to say. "Stop shooting at us!"

"Please!" he added.

Behind him, Moss could hear Norén sigh and palm her face. He tried his best to ignore her as he waited for a response.

"HUMAN?" someone finally called back.

"Yeah!" Moss bellowed.

"WHO?"

"Paras from the 222nd!"

Moss could hear someone plainly saying, "Fuck."

Then, more loudly, someone yelled, "DUDE, WE ALMOST FUCKING KILLED YOU!"

Moss glanced at the bullet holes in the truck, and how close they had hit. "No shit," he muttered to himself.

"HEY!" Moss heard the man call out. "COME HERE TO US!"

Moss casted a dubious look down the street. Aside from a couple of cars, it was wide open, with plenty of angles to take fire from. Beside him, Norén was shaking her head.

"Fuck you!" Moss finally decided to say. "Come to us!"

There was a brief moment of silence.

"OKAY! COVER US(1)!"

Three figures, clad in the standard coyote brown, rose up from the inside of a drainage basin and started sprinting over. Moss gestured for his squad to cover the roofs and the road. As he waited, he heard Norén silently laughing behind him. He glanced in her direction.

"What are you laughing at?"

"'Please stop shooting at us,'" she quoted. "Really Sergeant? Man, it's a good thing you weren't the first person to walk on the moon. I'd hate to imagine what your first words would have been."

Moss could feel his cheeks burn with embarrassment. "Shut up," Moss mumbled. "I'm tired. Besides, it worked didn't it?"

Norén burst out laughing again, and Moss glanced at the ground, hoping it would suddenly open up and swallow him whole. However, a thought suddenly occurred to him and Moss found himself gapping at Norén in astonishment instead.

"What?" she asked when she noticed his stare.

"Nothing!" Moss quickly said. "It's just... I've know you for a little over a month now, and I think this is the first time I've heard you laugh."

Norén instantly sobered up. "Yeah?" she said gruffly. "Well, good for you."

Despite Norén's rough tone, Moss could detect a hint of bashfulness. He chose not to pursue it further as the three soldiers bounded over the truck and landed next to him. Moss gestured for his squad to consolidate on him.

"Corporal Oshiro," the ranking soldier breathlessly said. "Sorry about that Sergeant. Thought you were the Covenant."

Moss wondered why the hell Oshiro would think that, as Moss didn't even look anything like an alien and plus, neural interface at the base of his should have been squawking a friendly IFF indicator, but Moss decided to just chalk it up to exhaustion. He opened his mouth to reply when he noticed Poblede frowning and staring very intently at Oshiro.

"Wait a minute, don't I fucking know you?" she suddenly blurted out.

Oshiro gave a startled look, giving Poblede a quick once-over. "I don't… I don't think so?" he stammered.

"Ah fuck, I do know you!" Poblede said, snapping her fingers. "You once got me in trouble once with the Sergeant Major for walking across the parade grounds at Fort Glaznov with my hands in my pockets! Thanks a lot you fucking prick! Fucking 1st Brigadiers."

"1st Brigade?" Moss echoed. "You mean our 1st Brigade?"

One of the soldiers accompanying Oshiro bobbed his head. "Yeah. We're cav scouts from 1st BCT, 222nd Airborne."

"Huh. Didn't expect to run into any more of our people out here," Moss commented. "Wait, are all three of you 1st Brigade? Because that would explain a lot."

"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?" the final soldier demanded to know.

"Are you serious? Are you telling me you never wondered why 1st Brigade's nickname is the 'FPF' Brigade? Or why 1st Brigade is always in the front?"

The man's expression changed from one of anger to one of confusion and he shook his head.

"I thought it was because we're always the first and last line of defense," the other soldier suggested.

Poblede let out a loud snort. "Hardly. It's because no matter what the situation is, you fucking 1st Brigadiers are always shooting in all directions, like you're laying down final protective fire. It's gotten so bad no other brigade in the division wants you behind us, just in case you guys shoot us in the back."

"Yeah?" Oshiro retorted. "You guys are 3rd Brigade, right? Remind me what your motto is again? Oh right: 'when in doubt, blow it up.' How's that going for you?"

"Not so great," Moss allowed, thinking about the massive trail of bodies and destruction they'd been leaving behind since they started this mission.

Moss was distracted as Volkov and Rabinowitz came running up.

"What's our situation Sergeant?" Volkov demanded.

Moss pointed at Oshiro. "Major Volkov, this is Corporal Oshiro sir, of 1/222nd."

"1st Brigade?" Rabinowitz commented, startled, before looking thoughtful. "Yeah, I guess we would be on the edge of 1st Brigade's AO."

"Is it just the three of you troopers?" Volkov asked.

"From the 1st? Yes sir," Oshiro replied. "However, we hooked up with elements from the 53rd sir. I could bring you to them. How many of you guys are there anyway?"

"Fifteen," was Volkov's blunt response.

Oshiro frowned but then shrugged. "Well, I'm sure the Colonel will be glad to see you guys anyways. Eggert, Asoka, return to the OP and continue watching our sector. I'll bring these guys back to the FOB. Sirs, if you would follow me?"

Volkov nodded. "Sergeant Shen, take your squad and cover our six. Corporal, lead the way."

Moss watched as Oshiro headed down the street and waited for the rest of the unit to stream passed. Demirci nudged Moss with his elbow as he limped by.

"Hey Sergeant, those the fuckers that shot at us?" he asked, gesturing towards Oshiro.

"Yeah," Moss said with a sigh. "But what do expect from troopers from the FPF Brigade?"

"They're 1st Brigade?" Demirci exclaimed. "Shit. Those trigger-happy motherfuckers."

"Hey Demirci," Xanthus called out as he walked passed. "Remind me how much ammo you got left?"

Moss chuckled as Demirci limped after Xanthus, sputtering, "That's not the same thing!"

Keeping a sharp eye out for enemy snipers, Moss followed Oshiro as he led them down the street towards a nondescript concrete building wedged between two warehouses, just off the main road. As they approached, Moss suddenly felt a weird sensation pass over him, like he was being watched. His instincts was proven to be correct as a few moments later, a female voice called out "Flash!"

"Thunder!" Oshiro replied.

"Welcome!"

A door opened on the warehouse to the right and two soldiers emerged, weapons at the ready.

"Lieutenant Yilmaz!" Oshiro called out to one of them. The woman of the two nodded.

"Corporal," she replied, before gesturing at Moss and his group. "Who are they?"

"We picked them up wandering around just outside the perimeter ma'am," Oshiro reported. "Figured the Colonel would want to see them."

"You're probably right. Return to your post Corporal," the Yilmaz said. "I'll take them from here."

"Yes ma'am."

Yilmaz turned to face Volkov.

"I'm 2nd Lieutenant Yilmaz, 450th Civil Affairs Battalion, Actium Colonial Militia," she said. "And you are sir?"

"Major Volkov, Special Warfare Group Three."

"Special Warfare Group Three?" Yilmaz repeated, incredulous. "I wasn't aware any SOF units had been deployed to this city. What are you guys doing here?"

"That's none of your concern Lieutenant," Volkov barked. "Who's in command here?"

"Uh, that would be Colonel Menteith(2) sir."

"Take us to him."

"Yessir. This way sir."

She led them into the concrete building, walking passed a heavy set of metal doors. Inside, they were greeted by half a dozen soldiers, most of whom were wearing the 53rd Armored Division insignia, but a couple were clearly members of the Actium Colonial Militia. They were armed with an odd assortment of weapons, and they all looked rather battered and exhausted. Probably similar to the way Moss and his squad looked.

No words were exchanged, only silent stares, as Yilmaz led them down the long hallway, walking through a couple more heavy-set metal doors, before reaching a flight of stairs. The stairs only led downwards, so they headed down, walking a couple flights before the walls opened up, revealing a large room.

Walking at the rear of the line, Moss wasn't initially able to see what was in the room, but he heard someone let out a small gasp. As he cleared the stairs and was finally able to see inside the room, Moss was able to understand why: the room was filled with civilians. There were probably a couple hundred of them. Civilians from all walks of life, all in various states of shock, and mostly non-combatants: the old, the crippled, and the children. Scattered among the crowd were a small number of wounded soldiers, but for the most part, it was mostly civilians. Many of them looked up to stare as Moss and his party descended down the rest of the stairs.

In retrospect, the presence of so many civilians shouldn't have been that surprising as Moss was beginning to realize they were in a bomb shelter. Still, he couldn't help but be taken off-guard. Moss hasn't been around this many civilians since enlisting, and certainly not during a Covenant invasion. Newsaka had a sizable civilian population but Moss hasn't really encountered any of them; by the time the 222nd had arrived, most of the civilians were either dead or had been evacuated. Confronted with this many civilians, Moss wasn't sure how to react, but he felt himself automatically tense up as they reached the ground. Moss never was a big fan of crowds.

"Make a hole people!" Yilmaz barked, pushing her way through the crowd. "UNSC Army, coming through!"

The crowd slowly separated, like fish making way for a shark. As Moss eased his way through the crowd, whispered voices began to reach his ears.

"...more soldiers!"

"Paratroopers. Are these reinforcements?"

"Where's the rest of them?"

"...division insignia. That's the 222nd Airborne."

"I thought they were on Newsaka. Did they..."

"...what the situation is on the surface."

"Are they here to help us?"

"They better. My taxes pay their salary..."

Moss gripped his rifle tighter as he carefully scanned the crowd. He doubted anyone would really jump out and attack them, especially during an alien invasion, but Moss had seen too many movies to allow himself to relax. Plus, it made him seem a bit more professional. Moss could see Roer doing the same thing, though he suspected it was for far different reasons.

"CLIFF!"

Moss reflexively switched the safety off his rifle as an old man, with a prosthetic leg surged out of the crowd and grabbed a hold of Roer. Moss relaxed though when he noticed Roer, far from looking alarmed, looked so relief he seemed about ready to burst into tears. Gesturing for the rest of his squad to continue following Yilmaz, Moss slowly made his way over to Roer.

"Mr. Hoffman!" Roer was saying. "I'm so glad to see you!"

"And you as well!" Hoffman replied, sounding just as relieved as Roer. "I can't believe it's you! I didn't expect to see you here, of all places. Are you okay? You haven't been wounded, have you?"

"Only lightly," Roer bashfully replied. "But I still remember all the first aid techniques you taught us when you were my troop leader."

"Aha!" Hoffman said triumphantly. "Didn't I tell you boys all those techniques would come in handy at some point in your life? And to think, none of you believed me."

"Yeah, yeah," Roer grumbled good-naturedly. "You've been waiting almost all your life just to rub that in, haven't you sir?"

"Yep," Hoffman freely admitted. "You have no idea how delighted I am to finally be able to say 'I told you so.' Still, not as delighted as I am to see you alive and well. Oh, come here!"

He grabbed a hold of Roer and pulled him into another giant bear hug.

"Ah, to see you alive and well," Hoffman said with a sigh. "I… well, I just wished your parents were here."

Moss could see Roer stiffen and the smile vanished from his face.

"My parents. They're not here?" Roer said, worriedly. "I just thought...I know you work on the same floor as they do. If you're here then they should be as well and if they're not..."

"What? Oh no, it's not like that at all!" Hoffman hastily said. "No, when the alarm went out, we all started to head towards this place but your parents didn't want to leave your sister behind. So they went to go get her. But this was hours before the Covenant made landfall."

Roer sagged with relief. "So they're still alive? And they've been evacuated?"

"Well," Hoffman hesitantly said. "I don't think they've been evacuated just yet, this area of the city was the first place the Covenant made landfall, but they are most definitely still alive."

"Oh thank god," Roer gasped. "When you said... well, I'm glad I was wrong."

"I am so sorry," Hoffman said apologetically. "I didn't mean to make it sound like that. No, what I meant is, your parents are just in another shelter, mostly likely with your sister."

It was at this point, Moss decided to get involved.

"Sir," Moss said, stepping forward and drawing their attention to himself. "My name is Sergeant Moss Shen. I'm Private Roer's squad leader."

"Squad leader huh?" Hoffman said, extending his hand for a handshake, which Moss returned. "You know, I was a paratrooper myself. Combat medic, assigned to 1st Brigade of the 6th Airborne Division.

Moss nodded. "The Red Devils. They were our partners on the line in Newsaka during Operation Mossflower. Good unit. Wild guys."

Hoffman chuckled. "Yeah. The stories I could tell you. Course, that was fifty years ago. Things were simpler then. No Covenant, you see. Only good old human on human violence." He let out a sad sigh. "You know, some days I wonder how much better off we would be now against the Covenant if we hadn't spent all that time fighting against ourselves."

"Sir, you can only make decisions based on the information you have on hand at that moment," Moss delicately replied. "Anything else is just hindsight."

"Yeah, I guess so," Hoffman said quietly.

Hoffman started to look a bit whimsical and Moss didn't want to lose him, so he quickly switched topics.

"Sir," Moss said, drawing attention back to him. "You mentioned Roer's parents were probably at a different bomb shelter. Do you think you could pinpoint which one sir?"

Moss tapped a few buttons on his TACPAD, calling up a map of the city and belatedly realizing how wrong most of the tactical information it depicted was. Moss hasn't really been bothering to keep his map up-to-date and realized he need to change that. But, fortunately, Hoffman didn't notice.

"Going to rescue the boy's parents, are you?" he asked.

"Going to try," Moss corrected, throwing a glance at Roer. "We'll see what we can do."

"Well, I wish you luck," Hoffman said, marking a spot on the map. "Wish I could go with you lads but with this leg." He slapped his prosthetic leg. "I'm afraid I'd be more of a liability than a help."

Moss studied the spot marked on the map and tried to memorize it. "Well, thank you sir. Roer, we need to go."

"Wait! Mr. Hoffman, are you guys going to get evacuated?" Roer asked. He gestured to the crowd that surrounded them. "How are we going to get all of you out of here?"

Hoffman shrugged. "Colonel Menteith has got a plan in the works, so don't you worry about me lad. Just worry about keeping yourself alive, you hear? Just listen to your squad leader here, he'll get you out alive."

"I promise you I'll try to get everyone out alive, sir, but there are no guarantees in combat," Moss warned.

"I understand," Hoffman said. "Good luck paratroopers."

He suddenly came to attention and snapped off a salute. After quickly verifying there weren't any officers behind him, Moss returned the salute before ushering Roer back to the squad.

"My parents are alive!" Roer crowed as soon as they were out of earshot of Hoffman. "My family is alive! Everything is going to be alright!"

Moss always hated to be the pessimist but at the same time, he didn't want Roer to get too excited. "Roer, take it easy," Moss cautioned. "The Covenant invaded hours ago. A lot could have happened since then. Your parents could have moved on to another shelter. They could be wounded in some random spot in the city."

'Or they could be dead,' Moss thought to himself, though he dare not say that out loud, figuring Roer had already thought of that.

Unfortunately, Roer seemed determined to be entirely optimistic.

"No, they're alright, I can feel it!" Roer exclaimed. "Everything is going to be alright! We going to rescue my family, finish our mission, and then we're going to get the fuck off this planet. You'll see Sergeant."

Personally, Moss was beginning to doubt any of those objectives could be accomplished, but he decided to keep his mouth shut, not wanting to burst Roer's bubble. In the meantime, he steered him in the direction the rest of the squad had gone, a large office branching off from the main hall.

Two soldiers stood guard at the door but after gesturing at his squad standing in the middle of the room, they granted him entrance without a fuss. Inside, a small headquarters had been set up. A small number of soldiers were running around, talking on radios and pouring over tactical maps. His squad was standing with the rest of the unit behind a desk, waiting. Sitting on the other side was a lanky soldier wearing the eagle insignia of a colonel, talking on the radio. Standing beside him patiently waiting was a soldier wearing the insignia of a First Sergeant.

Moss wondered what he had missed, but judging from the bored looks on his squad's faces, probably not much.

"Blizzard 6-1, yes, I understand the LZ is a little tight," the colonel was saying into his headset. "But I'm afraid that's the best I can do at this time. I barely have enough men to capture this spot, much less anywhere else. This is our best, and quite honestly, only chance to make this happen. I am sorry, but you're going to just have to make do, over."

Moss watched as the colonel drummed his fingers on his desk while he listened to the response. While he waited, Moss wandered over to one of the maps and decided to start update his TACPAD with the information on display.

"I agree," the colonel said. "In that case, consider us at T minus six zero mikes until H-Hour. Thank you. Rover, out."

Removing his headset, the colonel sighed. "Lieutenant Yilmaz!" he barked.

Yilmaz snapped to attention. "Sir?"

"Operation Dunkirk is a go. In one hour, we launch our attack on LZ Echo. Prepare your men and begin collapsing our perimeter guard. We're going to need every gun we can get our hands on. Dismissed."

"Sir!"

Moss watched as Yilmaz spun smartly on one heel and marched out of the room.

"Sorry about that," the colonel said as he rose from his seat. "I'm sure you know how difficult, even under ideal circumstances, it is to coordinate an assault with multiple units. I'm Colonel Akono Menteith, commanding officer of the 53rd Sustainment Brigade, or what's left of it. To my right is my acting Sergeant Major, First Sergeant Takala. Now, what can I do for you gentlemen?"

Volkov depolarized his visor and took a step forward. "Colonel, my name is Major Volkov with the Special Warfare Group Three."

"Major Volkov, yes. I know who you are, Major," Menteith interrupted. "I've read the reports. Can't say I approve of what you were doing on Alluvion, but the way High Command treated you afterwards was disgraceful. You have my sympathies."

Moss glanced at Volkov, wondering what Alluvion had to do with anything and what the hell he had missed, but Volkov's face was inscrutable.

"Thank you sir," Volkov said. "But that's not why I'm here. Sir, I'm looking for a satellite that was knocked out of high orbit about four hours ago by Covenant forces. Our telemetry placed the satellite as having crashed somewhere in this very district. While I realize it's probably a long shot, you wouldn't happen to have any knowledge about where specifically it landed, would you sir?"

Menteith stroked his chin thoughtfully. "This 'satellite' of yours Major. It wouldn't happen to have something to do with the destruction of a certain Covenant CCS-class battlecruiser in orbit around Actium at about the same time you say your satellite was knocked out?"

Moss threw a startled look at Menteith. He vaguely remembered the Pelican crew mentioning something about a Covenant battlecruiser getting taken out a few moments after the 222nd arrived in system, paving the way for their deployment to the colony's surface, but Moss had been too distracted to pay that much attention. Was that the battlecruiser Menteith was talking about? But battlecruisers, especially Covenant ones, were massive ships. How could one tiny satellite take out an entire Covenant warship? That would be like, a gnat somehow killing a whale. It just wasn't possible.

But then again, maybe that was why the satellite was so important. Maybe it was carrying some sort of experimental weapon that could take out Covenant capital ships with minimal effort. Though, Moss couldn't imagine what sort of weapon system that would be small enough to fit on a single satellite, yet have enough firepower to destroy a battlecruiser. A new type of nuclear warhead? Some sort of laser technology? Or something more exotic, like, say, anti-matter?

Whatever the case was though, if the satellite _was_ carrying some sort of weapon, it would explain why Volkov was in such a rush. If the Covenant were able to get their grubby paws on said weapon, they would be able to study it, probably reverse engineer it, and then use it against humanity. Not that the Covenant needed another weapon that could one-shot a human capital ship but still; the possibilities were alarming, to say the least.

Moss sudden regretted all the time they had just wasting fighting their way through the city.

While Moss fretted, Volkov had cocked his head to the side, his face betraying nothing, as he stared at Menteith with a bland expression on his face.

"Interesting theory sir," was all he said, and then nothing else.

When it became painfully clear Volkov was not going to say anything else, Menteith held up his hands. "Alright Major, I understand. Need to know information and clearly, I don't need to know. That's fine. But to answer your question." He stroked his chin thoughtfully and glanced over to Takala. "I might actually know something. Sergeant Takala and I were conducting an inspection of this bunker when we overheard a strange conversation a couple of militiamen were having. They were discussing an unusual crash site they had seen a few hours ago. At the time, I had other concerns so I didn't give the conversation much thought, but now that you've brought the matter to my attention, I do in fact believe it's what you're looking for."

"Colonel, sir," Rabinowitz suddenly spoke up. "With all due respect, _we're_ not even entirely sure what we're looking for. What makes you think these militiamen have even seen, well, whatever it is we're looking for?"

"Because of _what_ they reported as having seen," Menteith replied, throwing Volkov a significant look.

Moss had no idea what that even meant, but clearly it meant something to Volkov as he suddenly looked very interested in what Menteith had to say.

"These militiamen," Volkov said, his voice now laced with urgency. "Could they led us to the crash site?"

"Probably. But unfortunately, I can't allow that."

"Why not sir?" Volkov demanded to know.

"Major, I'm about to launch an operation that would hopefully allow the UNSC Air Force the chance to evacuate all three hundred plus souls currently residing in this bunker," Menteith explained. "For that, I'm going to need every single soldier I can get my hands on."

"That's fine sir," Volkov dismissively said. "We don't need those men to physically lead us to the crash site, we just need them to pinpoint the location on a map so we can be on our way."

Menteith shook his head. "I don't think you understand Major. I've got...exactly how many civilians Sergeant?"

"Three hundred and seventy three sir," Takala rumbled.

"Three hundred and seventy three civilians, consisting of children, the old, and the wounded. To protect them, I have exactly fifty-seven soldiers from various units under my direct command. That's nowhere near enough manpower to both protect this bunker while at the same time, run combat operations. I need more soldiers, Major. I'm going to need your men."

Volkov and Menteith stared at each other for a full minute before Volkov finally said: "No."

"Excuse me?" Menteith said, sounding surprised.

"Colonel, you cannot have my soldiers," Volkov repeated. "I'm in the middle of a mission as directed ordered by High Command. I cannot, and will not, deviate from my mission."

Menteith frowned. "Well Major, I'm countermanding those orders."

"You don't have the authority."

"Major, in case you haven't noticed, I am the highest ranking officer present. So yes, I do in fact have the authority to countermand your orders."

"That may be true, but as I've said already sir, my orders come directly from High Command," Volkov insisted. "It wouldn't even matter if you were a four star general, you still wouldn't have the authority to override my orders."

"If anyone from High Command wants to court martial me for exceeding my authority, that's fine, they can come down here and do it in person," Menteith barked. "In the meantime Major, I am giving you a direct order: I am commanding you and your section to deviate from your mission long enough to support my operation. Once these civilians have been safety evacuated, you are free to do whatever the fuck you want. Is that understood Major?"

"Major, perhaps it's best we support this operation," Rabinowitz suggested. "Once these civilians have been evacuated, it should free up quite a few military assets."

Volkov whirled on him. "Captain, if I wanted your fucking opinion, I would have asked for it," he snarled venomously. "You have no idea of what's at stake here, you have no idea what the bigger picture is, so keep your **GOD DAMN** mouth shut unless I address you directly!"

Rabinowitz recoiled, as if he'd been physically struck, and Moss reflexively took a step back. Even Menteith looked surprised at the amount of ferocity in Volkov's voice, but he rallied quickly.

"That's enough!" he barked, rising to his full height. "Major Volkov, I have given you a direct order and I expect it to be executed. If you are unable or unwilling to obey my orders, then I will find someone who will. Do you understand?"

Volkov was silent for a long stretch of time. "You're going to regret this Colonel," he finally said.

"Major," Menteith said, suddenly sounding tired. "I regret a lot of things. But saving civilians? That will never be one of them. So. What will it be? Are you going to remain in charge or do I need to find someone else?"

Volkov defiantly stared at Menteith, who stared straight back, unimpressed. The air in the room grew tenser as the staring contest continued, and Moss found himself anxiously shuffling from one foot to another. On one hand, Moss felt Volkov was right. He didn't think Colonel Menteith, who wasn't even a division commander but a brigade commander, had the authority to countermand a direct order from High Command. Plus, if the satellite was as important as Volkov made it sound like, then they couldn't afford to deviate.

At the same time, Moss felt supporting Colonel Menteith's operation was the right thing to do. The idea of abandoning all these people to their fate just didn't sit well with Moss. But moral reasons aside, Moss also felt there was a tactical reason for supporting Menteith's operation: as Rabinowitz had pointed out, trying to protect all these people was putting a drain on military resources. While fifty seven soldiers didn't sound like much, that was still fifty seven fully trained and armored soldiers who could easily be used elsewhere. In a delicately balanced battle such as this, a single soldier in the right place could spell the difference between defeat and victory.

The standoff continued. Moss found himself holding his breath, doing his best not to make a noise, least he draw the wrath of two very high ranking officers onto his head. In fact, no one in the room was making a sound. Even the noise from outside seemed to have subsided, as if everyone in the world had collectively held their breath, waiting to see what the verdict was.

Finally, after several long minutes, Volkov broke eye contact. "Let's hear what you've got planned," he finally, and grudgingly, asked.

And just like that, all the tension bleed out of the room. Moss dare risked looking around and managed to catch Poblede's eye. She glanced at him, with a shocked expression on her face.

'Holy shit,' she mouthed.

Moss could only shake his head in disbelief. He couldn't think of a single time where he had seen, or even heard, about two senior officers arguing with each other the way Menteith and Volkov had been just now, especially in front of their men. It was just wrong and more specifically, completely inappropriate in Moss' opinion. The way he saw it, officers were supposed to be calm and level-headed at all times, especially in times of great duress. They were also not supposed to argue with their superiors, especially in front of their men, as it would undermine the authority of both officers, something that could potentially have lethal consequences on the battlefield. But, then again, that was just his experience in the regular Army. Maybe things were done differently in SOF. Though he had his doubts.

"Alright then," Menteith calmly announced, almost managing to make it sound like he hadn't been in a near-screaming match with one of his subordinates. "Let's move on. Operation Dunkirk. Our mission objective is to try and ensure the complete evacuation of all three hundred plus civilians trapped here in this bunker to UNSC ships in high orbit. Since the beginning of the battle, my men and I have been attempting to evacuate as many civilians as we can, first by shuttling them to the designated evacuation zones, and then once we were cut off from friendly forces, by sending them through the subways tunnels. Unfortunately, the Covenant must have discovered what we were doing, because during one such evacuation, they blew the tunnels up. Fortunately, no one was in the tunnel, but the explosion did cut us off from most of my forces."

Moss guiltily shifted. Menteith's conclusion was understandable, but wrong: the Covenant hadn't blown up the tunnels, Moss had.

"Fortunately, another solution presented itself," Menteith continued. "Some other unit in the city managed to take out one of the nearby Covenant communications jammer, allowing us to contact the Air Force. I guess there's some sort of lull right now in orbit because they agreed to send us a ship to pick up all these civilians. We just need to clear an LZ for them. Which brings us here."

He activated a holographic sand table of the area. The sand table was labelled "Landing Zone Echo" and appeared to be depicting a train yard of sorts. Moss quickly studied the hologram.

The train yard was essentially a large rectangular area. Running parallel straight down through the center of the rectangle were about half a dozen railroad tracks with a couple of abandoned freight trains sitting idly on them. In an age of inter-galactic space travel, the trains looked completely out of place, but Moss knew just how valuable they were for the local economy. As it was when trains were first invented, there was just no cheaper way to haul hundreds of tons of goods across a planet's surface.

Bracketing the edge of the area were two concrete roads running parallel with the tracks. To the northwest, the concrete road was very wide, probably wide enough to fit two Scorpion tanks side by side, if Moss had to guess. A long stretch of that road, maybe seventy meters in length, was actually elevated, rising up slowly until it was level with the top of the flatcar beds before ramping back down. That was presumably the loading dock area. Just behind the road was a single building, which Moss figured for the train station itself. The station was two stories in height, giving it a good overview of the surrounding tracks. Behind the station was a large canal.

Directly across the railroad tracks to the southeast were a series of squat warehouses. Each warehouse was about six meters high and about a hundred meters wide. Dividing each warehouse were one-lane wide concrete roads running perpendicular to the train tracks. All roads fed into a two lane concrete road that divided the warehouses from the train tracks. Separating the train tracks from the road was a long line of concrete barriers, topped off by chain linked fences. All in all, the area looked rather open, with only the warehouses to use for cover and concealment.

Menteith's voice brought Moss' attention back to him.

"This right here is our objective," Menteith said. "Benson Yard. Designated 'LZ Echo' for the extent of this operation. Admittedly, this isn't the ideal place to set up an LZ. As you can tell from the map, it's not very big, limiting the type of aircraft to Pelicans only. However, the yard is the flattest and most open spot in the general vicinity, and we know the ground can support heavy loads so we're just going to have to make it work."

"Unfortunately, as of right now, the train yard in Covenant hands. This was one of the many places they seized when they hit the city and quickly went about fortifying it, setting up a defensive perimeter, with a CP set up in this building here." Menteith pointed at the train station building. "From what our scouts have been able to discover, perimeter defenses include a number of outpost and machine gun nest, manned by roughly a platoon of soldiers. Now, these soldiers are hardly their best; from what we can tell, the soldiers facing us are support troops: quartermasters, mechanics, engineers, etc. With that being said however, a Covenant warrior is still a Covenant warrior and should be treated as such. Plus, we believe that garrison has been reinforced by at least one Hunter pair. Possibly more."

Moss started. Hunters? That was not good news.

"I'm sorry sir," Xanthus blurted out. "But did you say Hunters?"

Menteith grimly nodded. "Yes, I did. Our scouts were able to confirm the presence of at least one pair of Hunters. But, the Hunters appear to be holed out inside the station itself. From what we can determine, in lieu of actual armor support, the Hunters are being used as a sort of mobile reserve."

Moss still felt faint. A single Hunter was difficult enough to deal with without major support. Two Hunters would be almost impossible to fight off. But more than two? This was going to be a very difficult mission.

"Fortunately, we've managed to gather a few surviving tanks from 2nd Brigade to provide some fire support. We were also able to secure support from a MRL battery on the outskirts of the city, however their rounds are currently limited, so we'll need to choose our targets carefully. No air support. The rest of our firepower will come from whatever individual small arms we have at hand." Menteith gestured vaguely in Rabinowitz's direction. "There's a fully stocked armory in this bunker, so I'll have Sergeant Takala escort you all over there after we finish here for rearmament."

That reminded Moss of just how little ammo he had at hand, and he looked forward to having a chance to rearm. And he was going to need it, especially if he had to fight against Hunters. Moss automatically began making a mental list of everything he needed as Menteith continued the briefing.

"Our plan of attack is simple. Due to the terrain, there's only so many avenues of approach; we can't attack from the rear because the canal is too wide and too deep to cross without bridging equipment, and approaching down the tracks will leave us too exposed to Covenant fire. That leaves us the only option of attacking from the front, where the warehouses and trains will give us enough cover until we can close the distance. We'll divide up into three platoons: 1st Platoon, call sign Rover-1, under my command and consisting of my troops from the 53rd Armored will attack head on, straight down the main supply route, hereby designated MSR Rhine. 2nd Platoon, call sign Rover-2, under the command of Lieutenant Yilmaz and consisting of the Colonial and Provincial Militia will attack down the ancillary service route on the right flank, designated ASR Elbe. And finally 3rd Platoon, call sign Rover-3 under the command of Major Volkov and consisting of all the paratroopers from the 222nd will attack down the left flank, designated ASR Seine."

"Those two militiamen," Volkov suddenly interrupted. "The ones who know where my satellite landed. I don't want them leaving my sight sir. I want them assigned to my platoon."

Menteith looked a bit annoyed but nevertheless nodded and said, "Of course. That will be arranged."

Volkov leaned back, satisfied. Menteith continued.

"There are three roads that run parallel to the tracks that we will have to cross. Mark them, from south to north, as Phase Line Alps, Pyrenees, and Urals."

"We only have four tanks, so allocation will be simple: as Rover-2 theoretically consists of soldiers least trained for combat, two Grizzly tanks will be assigned to them. The other two platoons will receive one tank apiece. Call signs for the armored platoon is 'Havoc,' followed by whatever platoon number the vehicle is assigned to. So in your case Major, it'll be Havoc 3."

"Our goal is to eliminate all Covenant resistance at the LZ. Once we've accomplished that, we'll mark the edges of the LZ with magnesium flares to facilitate the Air Force landings, at which point the civilians, under the protection of the BCP, will relocated from the bunker to the LZ. We'll defend the perimeter from any potential counterattack until all civilians have been evacuated at which point Major, you will be free to continue your mission."

"There's one point I'd like to emphasis: there is no backup plan. We need to get these civilians off this world and this very well might be our only chance at accomplishing that because from this point on, the Covenant are only going to grow in strength. I hate to be cliché but it's somewhat appropriate in this instance: failure is not an option.

"With that being said, we're going to need to move hard and fast ladies and gentlemen," Menteith concluded. "We don't know how long the lull in orbit will last and we need to eliminate that garrison before they call for reinforcements as our flanks will be in the air. Major, I'll leave the tactical details for you and your staff to hash out but in the meantime, I suggest you go ahead and rearm. Sergeant Takala will escort you to the armory and I'll have the rest of your platoon; including the two militiamen as you requested," Menteith added as Volkov opened his mouth, "meet you at the armory. As of right now, we're currently at T-minus forty minutes until H-hour. At T-minus fifteen, I want the entire company to gather at the assembly point across the street, ready to move onto the launch point, which gives you twenty-five minutes to prepare. Dismissed."

"Sirs, if you would follow me," Takala said, leading the way out of the room and down the hall.

Entering the armory, Moss immediately marched over to the nearest rack of ammo boxes. Dumping his empty magazines on a nearby table, Moss tore the box open and began methodically reloading his magazines. As he worked, the door opened and Corporal Oshiro and his men entered the armory, followed by two newcomers, a man and a woman. Presumably, they were the two militiamen Menteith had been referring to. Volkov immediately pounced on them.

"You two my militiamen?" Volkov demanded to know.

"Yes sir," the man said, sounding startled. "I'm Private Chiotis and this is Private Dubois."

Moss could see Volkov frowning. "You two are from the Thracia Provincial Militia? You don't sound like you're from Thracia."

Moss honestly wondered how the hell Volkov could tell. As far as Moss could tell, there was no difference between how these two talked versus how everyone else did.

"That's because we're not sir," the woman, Dubois, retorted. "We're from further north, Rhodes. We were on a joint provincial military exercise with the Thracia Marines when this all went down. We've been fighting with them ever since."

Volkov nodded. "The Colonel has informed me that you two were witness to a crash somewhere in this district roughly four hours ago. Show me on this map where it was." He activated a map on his TACPAD and shoved it towards the militiamen. Neither of them moved.

"Maybe you missed the part where we just said we're not from around here sir," Dubois drily pointed out. "So, let me said it again: we're not from around here. We don't know where it is."

"Fine. Do you think you could at least led us to it then?" Volkov asked, staring at them intently.

The two militiamen exchanged glances and Chiotis shrugged. "Yes, probably sir," she finally said.

"Good. In that case, neither of you are allowed to be further than two meters away from my side at all times."

Both Chiotis and Dubois looked startled, but neither of them said a word. They merely nodded in acknowledgement.

"Sir," Rabinowitz delicately said, cutting in. "Now that most of our forces have assembled, perhaps now is a good time to go over our organization, our approach to the target area, and other such details?"

Volkov glanced at him. "A full frontal assault on a defended position is not exactly my forte Captain," he said dismissively. "So I'll cede command to you."

Moss frowned. What Volkov just said made perfect sense. Special operational forces specialized in unconventional warfare, relying on surprise and ambushes to attack the enemy weak spots. They were not trained to fight like infantrymen, hitting the enemy head on and forcing their way through any resistance. However, the way Volkov had said it made it sound like he was ceding control because he didn't want to get blamed if something went wrong, which was one thing an officer shouldn't do.

The expression on Rabinowitz's face became rather fixed but he didn't comment. Instead he said, "Well in that case, for organizational purposes, we'll divide up into two squads. 1st Squad will be under my command, with Sergeant Xanthus acting as my second, and will consist of the remainder of his platoon. 2nd Squad will be led by Major Volkov with Sergeant Shen as his squad sergeant. Squad-2 will consist of the sapper squad, you three," he pointed at Oshiro and his team, "and the two militiamen."

"These roads make good fatal funnels, so we'll make our way through the warehouses on either side," Rabinowitz said, activating his map. "1st Squad will punch their way up the left, call it route yellow, and 2nd Squad will advance down the right, route blue. We'll need to advance down the road together, to avoid getting outflanked. We'll divide the buildings in this way: looking at the map, you'll notice there are two blocks between the launch point and the LZ. Five buildings on both sides of the streets; label each building sequentially by your route, the block we're on, and the building you're in. For example, Sergeant, once you've entered the first building on the first block, you'll be in building Blue one-one. The fifth building on the second block? Blue two-five. And so on and so on."

"I know we're supposed to have tank support, but I'm not sure how useful it will be in this part of the city," Rabinowitz admitted. "Try to use the tank for fire support, but don't depend on it: bring some heavy weapons. Also, don't forget to bring the flares to mark the edges of the LZ. We'll have in inspection in fifteen minutes. That's it, dismissed."

Moss quickly finished labeling all the building on his TACPAD before saving and deactivating the hologram. Grabbing all the magazines he'd been loading and stuffing them back into their proper locations on his webbing, Moss marched over to Volkov and pulled him aside.

"Sir, I was thinking, with the amount of buildings we have to clear, we should be prepared to divide up into fireteams. I was thinking my engineers should be Team A, while Corporal Oshiro and his cav scouts will be Team B, leaving you and the two militiamen on Team C. Is that alright with you sir?"

"Yes, fine," Volkov said dismissively. "As long as those two militiamen don't get too far away from me."

Moss bit back his annoyance. "Of course sir. Sir, I presume we will immediately depart to continue our mission the moment the LZ is secured?"

"Obviously."

"So we need to make sure we pack enough weapons and ammo for both this assault, and the mission afterwards."

"Unless you know of some other place we can get supplies from, then yes," Volkov replied.

Moss nodded. "Very good sir. I'll get the men ready, shall I?"

Without waiting for a formal dismissal, Moss spun around on one heel and walked away. Volkov's attitude was seriously beginning to irk him. Sure, Moss was beginning to comprehend just how crucial Volkov's mission was. But circumstances outside of their control were forcing them to divert. At this point, a less stubborn man would put aside his frustration and throw all his energy into the task at hand to finish it as quickly as possible so they resume their mission. But not Volkov apparently. Moss supposed it was that single-minded attachment to the mission that a Special Warfare Operator would need to have, but right now it was just getting in the way.

Doing his best not let his frustration show on his face, Moss gathered up 2nd Squad.

"Okay guys, listen up," he began. "So, I realize that not all of us have been trained for frontline combat, and that none of us have ever fought together before in the past, all of us coming from different units and possessing different MOSs. Unfortunately, that's what our circumstances have forced us into, and we're just going to have to deal with it. Fortunately, it's not as bad as it may seem: at this point in the day, we've all seen combat against the Covenant, so we know what to expect. Plus, we're all soldiers of the UNSC Army. We've all been through basic training, so we all have a common foundation to fall upon. I'll be lying if I said integration will be easy, but we should be able to pick up on each other as the day moves on."

"With that being said," Moss continued, "until we get to that point, I want to keep units grouped together for better cohesion. We're going to divide up into three fireteams: Alpha Team will be the sappers, with Corporal Poblede in charge. Corporal Oshiro, you and your scouts will form Bravo Team. And finally, Major Volkov has presumably worked with militia in the past so, he and our two Provincial militiamen with form Charlie Team. As for me, I'll probably stick with Alpha Team but I'll try to bounce around to where I'm needed."

"Aside from that, just like the Captain said, we're supposed to have tank support, but we might not be able to rely on them, so be generous when packing munitions," Moss ordered, glancing at the shelves stock full of weapons. "Oh, and one last thing: my guys, as soon as we secure the LZ, we're booking it to the crash site. We are not returning to this bunker. So make sure to bring enough ammo for this operation and our mission afterwards.

Moss turned to Oshiro. "I know the Major is going to be bring the militiamen along, but I don't know what he has planned for you three…"

"Shit Sergeant, we'll tag along," Oshiro interrupted with a shrug. "It'll be a relief to fight with other paratroopers again and besides, it looks like you could use the reinforcements."

"Clear it with Colonel Menteith first but you'll get no argument on my part." Moss glanced at this TACPAD. "Alright guys, let's lock and load."

As the group broke apart, Moss headed back to the ammo to refill his stock of grenades. While he was there, he also made sure to grab a couple of flares to use to mark the LZ. This armory didn't seem to stock any C-12 explosives; disappointing, but not tragic as Moss still had two blocks left from before they started this mission. Hopefully that would be all he needed, otherwise he was going to have to improvise.

Satisfied he was back in fighting shape, Moss took a look around the room to see if there was anything else he could use. He instantly spotted a rack of M301 underslung grenade launchers sitting on a shelf in the back.

Removing the lower half of his rifle's handguard, Moss put the grenade launcher in its place, making sure to secure it firmly, least the recoil rip the grenade launcher right off the rifle. Moss also grabbed a bandolier off the shelf and loaded up on ammo; mostly HEDP and buckshot rounds, but he also made sure to grab a few of breaching rounds so he didn't have to use up his meager supply of plastic explosives trying to break into buildings.

Patting himself down to make sure he had everything, Moss walked around the armory to check up on the squad. He stopped by Oshiro and his team first but they were already all geared up and ready to move out so Moss didn't talk to them for very long. Between the three of them, they were armed with an M739 SAW, two MA37 assault rifles, and one M319 grenade launcher, which was a pretty standard loadout for a cavalry scout team.

Next, Moss walked over to Roer. As he approached, a thought suddenly occurred to him and Moss tapped Roer on the shoulder.

"What's up Sergeant?" Roer asked as he secured a frag grenade to his belt.

"Back in the main room, your buddy, Mr. Hoffman, mentioned you had some medical training?" Moss asked.

Roer bobbed his head. "Yep. Mr. Hoffman was a combat medic back in the Insurgency War days and so he showed us a lot of first aid techniques: you know, taking vital signs, CPR, how to use a tourniquet, how to apply a splint, and then some more advanced stuff like how to insert an IV, how to use a defib, airway assessment and treatment, that sort of thing."

"Yeah, I remember the work you did on Ferguson a few weeks ago," Moss confirmed, the events of that night quickly flashing through his mind. He quickly shook his head and refocused. "Anyways, the reason why I asked it, obviously with Falco MIA, we're down a medic. I was wondering, would you feel comfortable acting as his replacement?"

Roer froze and Moss stated his reasoning. "I understand you're not a qualified medic in the least bit, but I can tell you already, you're probably the only here with anything resembling advanced first aid training. Volkov might, being a Special Forces Operator, but he's in charge and he's not going to have time to run around tending to the injured. Norén has probably got some experience with some of the more severe battlefield injuries, but she hasn't indicated, to me at least, she's got anything more than a passing familiarity with how medics work. Which, sort of leaves you as our only option."

Moss trailed off to gauge Roer's reaction. He looked rather nervous and uncertain.

"You know, if you don't feel comfortable, then that's fine," Moss began but then Roer quickly interrupted him.

"No, it's alright, I'll do it," Roer hastily said, "It's just that I've never had to render first aid to anyone while under fire before."

"I understand," Moss replied. "Really, with some of the injuries we've been seeing, I'm of the opinion that some treatment will be better than no treatment. Just do the best you can and I'll try to help you as much as possible, alright?"

Roer nodded.

"Good. Hey, Griffin, come over here!"

Griffin came bounding over. "Sup?"

"Swap weapons with Roer," Moss ordered, gesturing for Griffin to take Roer's SAW. "You're my SAW gunner now. You do know how to use this thing, right?" Moss quickly added as Griffin's eyes lit up and he all but tore the SAW out of Roer's hands.

"Nope. But how hard could it be?" Griffin cheerfully said. "Oops," he brightly announced as he somehow managed to remove the barrel from the SAW, letting it drop to the ground with a clatter. "Was that supposed to happen?"

Moss sighed. "Roer, show him how to use this thing, and then go find Sergeant Takala and see if you can't get a stretcher or something and some extra medical supplies."

"Will do," Roer replied with a sad shake of his head as he began to demonstrate to Griffin the proper way of using the SAW.

Moss left the two of them to work things out and headed towards the two militiamen. But before he could reach them, he was intercepted by Norén.

"Hey Sergeant," she called out. "They've got some M76 SRAAWs back there. You want to bring some along?"

"Yes," Moss instantly said before Norén could even finish her sentence.

Norén nodded, as if that was the answer she was expecting.

"I figured as much," she reported. "I guess my real question is, who do you want to carry it?"

That stopped Moss short. As useful as the SRAAW was, it's major flaw was that it was extremely heavy, weighing in at roughly 12.9 kilograms. Carrying one by itself would have been a hassle already but on top of everything else they had? And to make matters worse, as Moss considered who was already carrying what, he realize there was only one person available who could bring one along without being overburdened: Norén herself. Roer would be weighed down with all their medical supplies, Poblede was already carrying a grenade launcher and associated ammunition, and Griffin had just become their SAW gunner. Moss supposed he could carry it himself, but with the way Volkov was acting, Moss just knew he would be running around doing command tasks.

Norén rolled her eyes at the half-pleading look Moss shot her way. "Fine, I carry it," she said.

Feeling slightly guilty, even though he had no idea why, he said, "Wait. Give me your assault bag. I'll throw your stuff in mine, give you a little less to carry."

She unslung her bag and tossed it over to Moss, who quickly worked on consolidated the contents of both bags into one. Once that was accomplished, Moss walked away to check up on the militiamen as Norén worked on trying to figure out the most optimal way to carry the SRAAW.

Moss walked towards the two militiamen and frowned as he realized they were loading magazines for the M7 submachine guns they were both packing.

"SMGs? Really?" Moss commented. "Don't you guys have anything heavier?"

"It's worked out for us all day Sergeant," Dubois retorted. "I don't see why it won't work now."

"Yes, well, the thing is, you guys have spent all morning fighting with a much larger unit than us," Moss pointed out. "More soldiers means more guns, which means more firepower, which means the lighter firepower of your SMGs weren't as noticeable. Right now for this OP, it will probably be fine as we've got armor support. But the moment we split from the main group, it's going to be a problem. So..."

Moss walked over to the nearest weapon rack and pulled off a couple MA37 assault rifles. He turned and handed them to the militiamen. "Might as well make the switch now while we've got the chance."

Neither of them made a move to take the rifles from Moss. Instead, they just stared at them.

Moss was about ready to snap at them when Dubois finally said, with obvious reluctance, "We don't know how to use them."

"Wait, what?"

Chiotis picked up the explanation. "We've never been trained in the usage of that weapon Sergeant," he stated. "We're Falcon mechanics. They only weapon we've ever been qualified on was the M7 SMG."

Moss was flabbergasted. He thought everyone had been trained on the MA37 or its cousin, the MA5. Granted, these two were Provincial Militia, but even the militiamen had to meet the Army's minimum requirements before they graduate from basic. Unless that was the Army's minimum requirement for support troops. Moss always forgot there was a vast difference in standards between combat troops and support soldiers in the Army, with combat troops being far stricter. If there was one thing Moss felt the Army could learn from the Marine Corps it was that: in the Marine Corps, every Marine, no matter the MOS, was trained to be a rifleman. Whether they could be effective at it if thrown into the fire was a different story, but at least they had that basic foundation to build upon.

At any case, Moss was left in an interesting quandary: did he force Chiotis and Dubois to use the MA37 rifle anyways, knowing what he did? Or did he allow them to go ahead and continue to use their submachine guns? On one hand, there was something to be said about letting a soldier use a weapon they were intimately familiar with. They would be far more effective fighters if allowed to use a weapon they had received extensive training on.

On the other hand, given the strength of the opposition they faced, as well as their limited numbers, they needed that extra firepower. And there was no question about it; by all metrics, the 7.62x51mm round was a far superior round for killing than the 5x23mm round used by the M7. Plus, there was the logistical value to consider. This morning had already proven that resupply in this part of the city was extremely limited and the potential for firefights high. It would be highly beneficial of everyone in the unit was utilizing the same cartridge to keep things simple. Granted, Volkov was using a BR55, which fired a 9.5x40mm round, but at least that was a highly accurate marksman rifle whereas, there wasn't really any value to having an SMG. SMGs were useful for two things: their compact nature making it easier to maneuver with, and their high rate of fire coupled with their low recoil. However, the inherit nature of the bullpup design meant the MA37 was already fairly compact, and they had SAWs for automatic fire.

His mind made up, Moss glanced over his shoulder. "Hey Pip, come over here!"

Poblede came walking up, a bandolier of grenades draped over each of her shoulders, as well as a third bandolier wrapped around her waist. How she planned on moving more than five meters without sounding like a herd of elephants, Moss had no idea but he figured he'd let her work that one out.

"What's up Moss?" she asked.

Moss gestured at Chiotis and Dubois. "I need you to give these guys a quick tutorial on the basic operations and functions of these rifles."

She started laughing, then quickly trailed off when she realized Moss wasn't following suit. "You serious? These guys don't know how to use an assault rifle?"

Moss shrugged. "Apparently they've never been qualified on this weapon system."

"Fucking militia," he heard her mutter under her breath. More loudly, she said, "Alright, fine."

"Thanks. And if you could make it quick, we don't have a lot of time left."

"Yeah yeah," Poblede said dismissively. "Alright, listen up you pissants."

Moss looked up as Rabinowitz walked up to him. "Sergeant, are you and your men ready?"

"Just about sir," Moss reported. "But uh, I haven't had a chance to check in with Major Volkov yet sir."

Rabinowitz waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry about him Sergeant," he ordered. "Apparently Major Volkov is off doing his own thing, and doesn't seem to feel the need to coordinate with the rest of us."

Moss was caught off guard by the bitterness in Rabinowitz's voice. Moss supposed he couldn't blame Rabinowitz; getting constantly sidelined by someone you thought was a friend had to be frustrating and painful as hell, but Moss was surprised to see Rabinowitz displaying his emotions so plainly.

"Sir, you're a longtime friend of Major Volkov, aren't you sir?" Moss said. "If you don't mind me asking sir, was he always so," Moss mentally searched for a term that would be a bit more polite than the one he really wanted to use, "passionate about completing his mission?"

"Not really, no," Rabinowitz admitted. "Don't get me wrong, he was always dedicated; he was a true believer of our cause, always waving the UNSC flag as hard as he could. But this? This is something else."

"Guess that's what happens when someone joins Special Warfare, huh sir?" Moss suggested, but Rabinowitz shook his head.

"That's not it," Rabinowitz said. "It's something else. Not a hundred percent sure what, but I've got my suspicions."

"But, it doesn't matter now," he quickly said, glancing at his watch. "Police up your squad Sergeant, we're moving out."

Moss nodded. Sticking two fingers into his mouth, he let out a sharp whistle, drawing everyone's attention.

"Listen up!" Moss barked. "We're moving out! All troopers, police up your gear! All team leaders, get your teams accounted for and rally at the assembly point! Move it!"

There was some grumbling and some fumbling as his section surged to their feet and headed out the door. Moss stood by the doorway, counting heads as they walked by, making sure no one accidently got left behind again. When everyone left, Moss turned to join them, but then paused when he heard someone shifting around behind one of the weapon racks. Wondering how he had managed to miss someone, Moss walked over and glanced behind the shelf, curious as to who the missing trooper was. He was surprised to see Xanthus, sitting on an ammo crate, his helmet off and lying on the ground between his feet, his head in his hands.

"Hey Sergeant. Sergeant Xanthus!" Moss softly called out, trying not to draw the attention of anyone outside. "Dude, we're on the move."

"Yep," Moss heard Xanthus mutter. "Yeah, I heard."

Xanthus lifted his head and Moss was shocked to see how pale and drawn his face looked. The bags under his eyes were pronounced as ever, and his eyes were red and irritated, as if he'd been vigorously rubbing them.

"Sergeant, are you alright?" Moss asked, concerned.

Xanthus let out a heartfelt sigh. "Yeah. It's just... it's been a long day."

"Yes, it has," Moss cautiously agreed. "But it's not over yet."

Xanthus nodded and sat upright, but made no move to put on his helmet and stand up. Instead, he stared at Moss with a dull expression in his face.

"Let me ask you something Sergeant," he abruptly said. "You ever feel like, I don't know, giving up? Throwing your hands up into the air and saying 'fuck this shit, I'm out?'"

"Do you mean, like going AWOL?" Moss carefully suggested. "Or… deserting?"

"Yeah," Xanthus said, suddenly coming to life. "I mean, think about it. It would be so easy right now. There's hardly anyone here so who would notice? A person could just… disappear and no one would ever know what happened."

Moss took a moment to consider his response.

"Okay," Moss said slowly, trying to keep a neutral tone, as to keep Xanthus guessing as to his true opinions. "Not saying I agree or disagree with you Sergeant, but let's just say, for a hypothetical situation, a person were to do just that and… leave. Where would they go? I mean, in case you haven't notice, we're sitting in the middle of a Covenant occupied city."

"Anywhere they wanted to," Xanthus whimsically replied. "This city is so big, a person could spend… weeks, months even, without the Covenant noticing a thing. And plus, why the Covies care about one lone human running around in the city?"

"Yes, but then? What would that person do if say, the Covenant win this battle and completely annex the city? What then?"

Xanthus shrugged. "Nothing, because it wouldn't be that person's problem anymore."

"That may be true," Moss allowed. "But you'd still have to deal with the aftermath. The Covenant have proven time and time again that they aren't conquerors, they're destroyers. If this city falls, maybe the Covenant will occupy it for a bit in order to consolidate their forces. But then, they're just going to glass the city. And even if that doesn't happen, there's still the UNSC to consider. We're not going to allow the Covenant to gain a lodgement here. If it even looks like we're about to get routed, well, High Command would rather see this city burn to ashes around us rather than let the Covenant have it. Either way, you'd have maybe a couple of weeks, probably a month at max, before the end comes. And that's only if you manage to evade all Covenant combat patrols, sporadic UNSC fire support missions, failing infrastructure, hell, even the weather." Moss paused to look Xanthus directly in the eyes. "You think that would be worth it?"

Moss watched as Xanthus' face fell. "Yeah… I guess you're right," he finally said. "Not really worth it."

"You know, I didn't really mean any of that," he added. "It's just... man, I'm tired. Tired of getting our asses kick. Tired of seeing all my friends die. Tired of dumbass officers who want all the glory, but when it comes time to make the hard choices, they suddenly don't want to be in charge."

Xanthus abruptly shot to his feet and began to agitatedly pace around. "I mean, seriously, what the fuck are we even doing here? What's the fucking point? We all know we can't fucking win, we all fucking know this planet is going to burn, we all going to fucking die, why are we even trying anymore? What's the fucking point?"

"To buy time," Moss said simply.

Xanthus glanced at Moss, puzzled.

"I mean, yeah, you're probably not wrong," Moss acknowledged. "Statistically speaking, we're probably going to be all dead before the day ends. And yeah, you're also probably right, this world is probably going to burn like the rest of them. But let's be honest here: despite what our commanders tell us, our job isn't to win. This far into the war, a military victory is simply out of the question; the option isn't even on the table and it hasn't been for quite some time now. At this point, the best, and really only option, is to simply outlast the Covenant."

"Think about it," Moss added, noting the look of skepticism that passed over Xanthus' face. "Think about how many casualties the Covenant take with their 'damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead' approach to battle? Their reckless charging into firefights. The mass Grunt wave attacks. I mean, for example, just think about how many aliens we've killed since the start of this mission. Sure, we've lost a lot, and I don't want to diminish that fact in any way, but if you break it down in a cold and analytical way, we've lost what, ten guys so far? But we've managed to inflict something like, what, several dozen casualties so far? Maybe even a couple hundred? And that's just one small unit. If you take that ratio and multiply it across the entire colony, and then multiply that number by the amount of colonies we've lost, you'll find that, that's a lot of fucking dead aliens. That's _got_ to be taking its toll. There's no way the Covenant can sustain those numbers, it's just not possible. Eventually, they're going to reach a breaking point, one where they realize they can no longer continue their campaign of extermination against us. And once that happens, they're going to have to sue for peace."

"But until then, our job is buy time. Every minute the Covenant spend trying to take this city, is another minute UNSC scientists have to develop new and better weapons to help us in our fight. Every casualty the Covenant take on this planet is one less alien humanity has to face further down the road. Every ship that gets damaged, every piece of ordnance that gets expended, all of that adds up."

"The point is, we're never going to win this war," Moss continued. "But in many ways, our continued survival is our win condition. We just… have to keep moving."

Moss trailed off, feeling rather self-conscious. He was never one for speeches, especially impromptu ones. He was never sure of what he was saying ever made sense. Things always sounded logical when he was reciting them in his head, but Moss always found it difficult to transpose his thoughts into words. He glanced at Xanthus to try to figure out if any of his ramblings made sense, but Xanthus was expressionless, and Moss found himself awkwardly staring at his feet, waiting for a response.

The silence was finally broken when Xanthus let a sigh. Scooping his helmet off the ground, he announced, "We should probably get going."

Moss nodded and watched Xanthus leave the room. He still wasn't sure if anything he had just said made any sense, but at least Xanthus no longer seemed interested in abandoning his position, even though he still did sound rather depressed. Casting one last look around the room, Moss exited the armory.

"You know, I got to ask," Moss commented as he stepped through the doorway. "Does dear Ajax know about your eavesdropping problem?"

He looked up as Poblede stepped away from the right side of the doorway where she had been waiting.

"Oh, he knows," Poblede shamelessly confirmed. "In high school, he used to call me 'his little spy' because I always seemed to be the first to know all the juicy gossip and rumors. Said it was both kind of creepy and extremely useful."

Moss grunted in acknowledgement.

"So," Poblede began. "What's wrong with him?"

Moss rolled his eyes. "How the fuck should I know Pip? Do I look like a psychiatrist?"

Poblede didn't say anything, just patiently waited.

"Well, if I had to guess," Moss said after a few moments of thought. "I'd say he was suffering from a case of battle fatigue. Shell shock. Whatever you want to call it."

Poblede looked thoughtful. "I had heard he was supposed to have been medically evacuated after Hill 937," she revealed as they entered the main room. Moss absentmindedly noted the crowd of civilians that had first greeted them was gone, presumably to prepare for their eminent evacuation. "But he chose not to. Never could figure what he was supposed to have been medevacked for because he didn't appear to have been wounded, but now I'm wondering if it was for that."

Moss shook his head. "And Rabinowitz still dragged him along for this mission. It is unbelievable how in this day and age, we still got commanders who refuse to believe PSTD is an actual thing."

"Well, to be fair," Poblede said diplomatically. "We thought we were going to be running a mission behind friendly lines. Maybe Rabinowitz thought the same thing?"

Moss shrugged, not convince. He kept his opinions to himself though as they started climbing the stairs back to the surface.

"Where are we going by the way?"

"To the surface. Across the street. Apparently there's a small garage where the 53rd guys stashed the tanks."

They reached the surface and crossed the street to the garage. Just before entering though, Moss stopped and turned to Poblede.

"Pip, make sure you don't tell anyone what you heard, okay? What was said between Xanthus and me should stay that way."

Poblede glared at him. "I'm not an idiot Moss. I know how to keep my mouth shut."

Moss grinned. "Too bad you never learned how to do the same with your legs."

Poblede let out a guffaw. "What would you know Moss? You've never even been with a woman before."

"Oy, ixnay on the virginitay, okay?"

They started to enter the garage but before Moss could even fully clear the doorway, he was immediately confronted by a large, burly soldier. The man was garbed in the standard olive drab colored coveralls normally issued out to tankers and APC crewmen, and he was wearing the insignia of an Army Sergeant.

"You Sergeant Shen?" he gruffly asked.

"Yes…?" Moss hesitantly replied.

The man's face suddenly split open into a wide grin and abruptly extended his hand for a shake. "Sergeant Duvall(3). Guess I'm your tanker support for this OP."

"Oh. Hello," Moss intelligently replied before returning the handshake. "Um, I'm Sergeant Shen, which I guess you already knew. This here is my second, Corporal Poblede."

"Nice to meet you Corporal," Duvall said, reaching out to shake her hand.

"Likewise," was Poblede's response.

"Man, what an awful day so far, huh?" Duvall said, gesturing at the devastation that could be clearly seen through the open door.

"You got that right Sergeant," Moss agreed.

Duvall nodded. "Well, fortunately we've got the chance to keep it from getting any worse," he commented. "So, I talked to some of your men Sergeant. It sounds like you guys have seen plenty of action against the Covies, but most of your battles were fought with no armor support. You ever fight a battle with tank support before?"

"Nope," Moss replied. "We were supposed to have tank support on Newsaka, but division decided the terrain we were fighting in wasn't good tank country, so they yanked our support. Haven't fought a battle with tanks yet."

"That's not entirely true," Poblede interjected. "Remember Battle of Seven Pines about a month ago? We were providing support to the 31st Cavalry Division and their APCs."

"Oh yeah," Moss said thoughtfully. "But we were dug in for that one. That doesn't count."

"Sure it does," Poblede argued. "That's all a tank is, isn't it? A mobile, invincible, pillbox?"

Moss could see Duvall shaking his head sadly. "No, not really," he said, before gesturing for them to follow him. "Come on, let me introduce you guys to the team."

Moss and Poblede followed Duvall as he led them into the garage. Four Grizzly tanks were lined up in a row, surrounded by dozens of armed soldiers. Walking passed the first three tanks, Duvall led them to the last tank in the row.

"This here is Shelia," Duvall proudly announced, patting one of the barrels of the tank's main cannon as he walked up. "She's a M850 model Grizzly tank. You know the difference between the Grizzly and Scorpion tanks?"

Moss shook his head.

"Scorpions are geared towards general infantry support while Grizzly tanks are geared towards anti-armor warfare. To that effect, tanks like Shelia here have more armor, a dual 120mm main cannon instead of the singular 90mm, and the crew compartment has been extended in order to incorporate an extra crewmember for a total of three: a driver, gunner, and commander. But, despite those differences, both tank models and their variants pretty much function the same way, and all share similar weakness."

"Now," Duvall hastily said, "don't get me wrong. I love Shelia; she's one of the best tanks I've ever had. She got me and the boys through the worst of the fighting on Draco III without a scratch. So, it pains me to admit this, but she's not perfect. She's got three major weak spots: the rear, the bottom, and the top. She'll shrugged off shots to the sides or the front like there's no tomorrow, but one shot to the top? Yeah, its lights out for everyone."

"Under normal circumstances, that's not really a problem. Between her dual cannon, our two .50cals, the coax, and all our electronic sighting equipment, we can spot and engage targets up to four klicks away. In the city however… sight lines are limited, especially when we're buttoned up. Which is why we need you guys. With you guys out on foot, you can see and react far faster to threats than we can. With you guys ahead of us, you can warn us when we're about to coast into an ambush. In return, we'll do the heavy lifting; you guys run into Covie strongpoints, any resistance, we'll blow it away for you. Easy enough?"

"Sounds good Sergeant," Moss responded.

"COMPANY, MOUNT UP AND PREPARE TO MOVE OUT!"

"Oh, here we go," Duvall commented as the garage exploded into activity. Other commanders began picking up the call.

"Stand to Paras!" Moss heard Rabinowitz order. "We're Oscar Mike!"

"Tankers, mount up!" Duvall barked as he started to climb up his tank.

"Look alive people," Moss called out. "2nd Squad, assemble on me!"

Unslinging his rifle from his shoulder, Moss started for the door when he heard Duvall call out, "Sergeant Shen!"

Moss turned to face him.

"Get on," Duvall called, gesturing to the top of the tank.

"Get on?"

Duvall looked amused. "Unless you'd rather walk the entire way?"

Moss looked around and realized every other unit was climbing onto their assigned tanks, as if they intended to ride into combat. Feeling a bit foolish for not realizing they were allowed to do that, Moss re-slung his rifle and clambered onto the top of Shelia, noticing as he climbed aboard someone had thoughtfully installed a number of leather straps for hand holds. Once on top, Moss plopped himself down right next to Duvall, who was standing on his commander's seat, with the upper half of his torso sticking out from the crew compartment hatch.

"Driver, fire her up," Duvall ordered into his headset as Moss looked around, making sure everyone was onboard. He noticed Xanthus was positioned on the other side of Duvall, and Moss took the opportunity to study his face. Xanthus still looked tired as hell but, and perhaps it was Moss imagination, there was a spark of determination in his eyes that hadn't been there before. Maybe Moss' pep talk actually helped.

Shelia rumbled to life as power surged through her systems. At the same time, Moss was blasted by a gust of cold air as the garage rooms opened, exposing the building to the wind outside.

"COMPANY, ADVANCE!" Moss heard someone scream over the rumble of four Grizzly tanks.

"Alright guys, hold on to your butts," Duvall warned as the tanks began to depart, one after another. Then it was Shelia's turn. "Porkins, take us forward then hard left when I say so. Go forward."

Moss grabbed ahold of the leather strap and braced himself as Shelia jerked forward and out of the garage. Snow immediately began to fall onto Moss at a steady pace and in a few seconds, his jacket was lightly covered with snow.

"Porkins, hard left... now."

There was a loud grinding of metal against concrete as Shelia did a full ninety degree turn to the left on the spot, leaving gashes in the surface of the road. Moss was surprised by how loud the noise was and he wondered if they just gave their position away. He wasn't able to worry about it too much longer as he was forced to catch himself when Shelia started down the road, following in the tracks of the other three tanks. They advanced forward into the city.

Riding on top of a tank was an interesting experience, one that Moss was quickly finding he didn't really enjoy much. For starters, riding on top meant he was completely exposed to the elements. Granted, if he'd been walking, he would have been in the same situation however, what was making this experience even worse was the fact he was sitting on top of a moving vehicle. While Shelia was hardly speeding, she was still moving fast enough to pick up a breeze, which cut right through Moss' damp clothing, chilling him to the bone. Plus, Moss wasn't sure if Grizzlies normally didn't have mudguards or the tank in front of them was just missing them, but the tank in front them kept picking up chunks of slushy snow and throwing it over them. Then of course there was the realization that they were sitting on what was essentially a giant fuel rod cannon magnetic, and that if they started taking fire, there would be no place for him to hide. Moss really didn't want to complain because, really, riding a vehicle was definitely better than having to walk, but he found himself nervously eyeballing every window and every shadow they passed, waiting for an ambush to manifest itself. He glanced over at Poblede to see if she was doing the same, and he was shocked to see her nodding off.

Reaching out, Moss jabbed Poblede in the side of her helmet with the butt of his rifle.

"Hey Pip, wake up," Moss softly, but loudly enough to be heard, called out. "Remember what Sergeant Tanner used to say in our pre-deployment training? 'You can sleep when you're dead.'"

"Fuck off Moss," Poblede mumbled. "Wasn't sleeping, I was just resting my eyes."

"Uh-huh," Moss skeptically said.

Poblede turned to glare at him, but then unexpectedly burst out laughing.

"You think I'm the problem?" she said between laughs. "Look at Griffin."

Moss turned around and was shocked to see Griffin, his head leaned up against metal plate just under one of the smoke dischargers mounted on the side of the turret, his mouth wide open, and his SAW loosely gripped in his lab, completely passed out.

"How can he be asleep right now?" Moss gaped. "Doesn't the snow and the cold bother him?"

"Well, it pretty much rained the entire time we were on Newsaka," Poblede pointed out. "But we still managed to get some shut eye."

"Yeah, but at least it was warm. And we had raincoats to keep us dry. Sort of. And we also weren't sitting on top of a moving metal box."

"Yeah, well, he's probably used to sleeping in shitty places," Poblede said with a shrug. "You know he was living in a box before he got drafted?"

" **In** a box or **out of** a box?"

"In. You should ask him about it if you get the chance. And if you do, you should ask him about how he got drafted. It's kind of a funny story."

Poblede trailed off as the column reached an intersection, and they watched as the first two tanks make a right and sit at the mouth of the road. The tank in front of them and Shelia continued forward.

"We got two more blocks before we reach our turn," Duvall announced.

" _3-1 to all of Rover-3 elements,"_ Rabinowitz call over general comms. " _As soon as we reach the launch point, we dismount and continue the rest of the way to the objective on foot, over."_

Moss keyed in his microphone. "Copy that one," he said. Leaning back, he drove his elbow into Griffin's side saying, "Griffin, wake up!"

Griffin jerked awake and immediately gripped the side Moss had hit. "Ow," he said. "What was that for?"

Moss stared at him before remembering that was the side Griffin had been injured on early this morning and immediately felt guilty. "Sorry," Moss quickly said. "But the mission is about to start."

Griffin immediately brightened. "Alright then! What are we waiting for? Let's go!" He started to jump off Shelia but Roer quickly grabbed him, preventing him from leaping off the moving tank and potentially getting caught and pulled under the tracks. "What?"

"Wait for the tank to stop you idiot," Moss ordered him with a sigh, no longer feeling guilty. He noticed Duvall staring at Griffin with a puzzled expression on his face.

"Is he crazy? Or is he just pretending to be?" Duvall asked when he caught Moss' questioning look.

Moss shook his head. "Neither. He's just an idiot. The way I like to put it is this: Griffin here is the embodiment of the phrase 'ignorance is bliss.'"

"Fuck you Moss," Griffin cheerfully retorted. Then… "What does ignorance mean anyway?"

Duvall stared at him. "Are you serious? Is he serious?"

"Yeah, seriously, what's it mean?"

"Ah," Duvall commented in understanding as Moss rolled his eyes. "I think I see what you mean Sergeant."

"What does _that_ mean?" Griffin demanded.

"Don't worry about it Griffin," Moss ordered as they reached the next intersection and the tank in front of them turn off the main road. "I'll tell you later."

As they drove on through the intersection, Moss watched as the 53rd troopers leapt off their tank and move to cover both sides of the street. Moss was shocked to see Colonel Menteith among them, a k-pot on his head and an assault rifle in his hand. Normally, once an officer reached full bird status, they no longer needed to lead the soldiers they commanded into the field of battle. In fact, they shouldn't; at that point, their job was to focus on the strategic level, not the tactical level. During the briefing, Menteith hadn't mentioned where he was going to be during this operation, but Moss had assumed he had been planning on staying with the civilians. The fact he was on the front with the rest of them meant Menteith was either a recently promoted officer who hadn't gotten used to the idea of staying back, or they were more screwed than Moss had initially realized. Whatever the case was, there wasn't much Moss could do at this point, but the sight of Menteith made Moss that much more nervous.

As Shelia cleared the intersection, he could see Menteith and Sergeant Takala yelling out orders, getting their men ready. Moss continued to watch them until they disappeared around the corner.

"Driver, make a right turn and halt," Duvall ordered as they reached the intersection.

Shelia rounded the corner, smashing into an abandoned car that was sitting in the way. Moss winced as the impact triggered the car alarm, the shrill noise echoing down the empty streets. The alarm only lasted a few seconds as Shelia plowed over the car, the seventy some ton tank completely pancaking the vehicle and destroying the alarm in the process, but Moss wondered if the damage had already been done. Did they just give away the element of surprise?

Shelia grounded to a halt.

" _Rover-3, dismount!"_ Rabinowitz ordered, and Moss quickly ushered his squad off Shelia. Sliding off the side, Moss unslung his rifle and brought it up to a low ready position.

"Spread out everybody!" Moss barked as he set his headset so that all chatter from his SQUADCOM feed into his left ear so he could hear what his men were saying, while all chatter from PLATOONCOM feed into his right so he could hear what the tank was doing. There wasn't much he could do about the general coms except hope that Volkov would be listening in.

Moss flinched as the _whoosh_ of rockets sounded overhead, following by explosions coming in the direction of the LZ. "The hell was that?"

Norén frowned. "Sounds like our MRL support. Maybe trying to suppress Covenant defensives? But why? We haven't gone anywhere yet. Why are we giving up the element of surprise now?"

"I think we already lost the element of surprise a long time ago," Moss pointed out. "After all -"

" _INCOMING_ _ **!"**_

* * *

Footnotes:

1\. The near friendly fire incident and subsequent dialogue is from the 2001 war film _Black Hawk Down_

2\. Akono Menteith is a canon character, having been introduced in a Halo waypoint video. He, however, has not appeared anywhere else.

3\. Duvall is also a canon character. He's the Army soldier you encounter during the _Halo: Reach_ single player campaign level _Exodus._

4\. Shelia is, of course, named after the tank character from the machinima series _Red vs. Blue_

Headcanon Notes:

 **M76 Short Range Anti-Armor Weapon**

The M76 SRAAW is intended to be based off the real-world Panzerfaust 3. This is one of those things I decided to add to this story, mainly because I felt like the Halo canon was lacking such a weapon. As I'm sure many people know, in most real-world militaries today, most armies generally have two anti-tank/armor weapon systems in usage: a reloadable, reusable system that is more accurate, more expensive, and harder to use thus required a specially trained operator (in the US military, that would be the Mk. 153 SMAW or M3 Carl Gustav,) and a one-shot disposable weapon that is a lot more intuitive and cheaper to manufacture that can be issued out to every single soldier if necessary (US military uses with the M136 AT4 or the M72 LAW, but other examples include such weapons like the Panzerfaust 3.) Obviously in the Halo universe, the M41 SPNKR (or "Jackhammer" as it's also known) from the Bungie trilogy, and the M57 "Pilum" from Halo 5, already fills the role of the reloadable launcher, however there isn't a Halo counterpart to the likes of the AT4 or Panzerfaust.

As to why we've never seen the M76 SRAAW in the video games, well, the way I see it is: A: if you're a Spartan and you don't need to worry about how heavy something is, then the M41 rocket launcher is a far superior weapon to use because you can afford to miss and because you can reload (and plus, certain iterations allow you to lock onto enemy vehicles) and B: as I mentioned in the story, it's only really issued out to the Army's light infantry units, which you don't encounter in the game (I figured the Army troopers you fight with in _Halo: Reach_ are Colonial Militia; hence the general lack of equipment.)

 **M850 "Grizzly" main battle tank**

M850 "Grizzly" tanks were introduced in _Halo Wars,_ though they have yet to appear in any of the major games. I was initially planning on inventing a "D" model version of the Scorpion tank with a 120mm cannon and heavier armor, but when I reading up on the tank on Halopedia, I noticed the Grizzly. The Grizzly pretty much filled all my requirements, however I was bit reluctant to use this vehicle mainly because of the dual cannons. Outside of fiction, you won't find any modern tanks with dual main cannons (not autocannons; I'm talking about cannons 75mm and up.) Some of the reasons being: A) cannons are very heavy and take up a lot of room, so you would need a bigger tank to carry both, B) it would take twice as much armor to protect two cannons as opposed to just one, thus increasing the overall weight of the tank, C) two main cannons would greatly increase complexity and maintenance requirements and D) there's just no point. Modern tank cannons are currently able to penetrate just about everything under the sun, and if there ever comes a point where they can't, it would be more efficient to increase the caliber of the cannon, rather than have two small caliber weapons for the reasons stated above.

With that being said, the M850 "Grizzly" tank is an existing canon vehicle, so I felt like I had to use it. Because of that, I also felt obliged to try and explain why the UNSC decided to go with a vehicle armed with dual cannons. I'm sure there are better and more plausible reasons, but here's my attempt:

The opening stages of the Insurrection in 2494 came as a shock to the UNSC military. The M766 "Caracal" main battle tank, the mainstay of the UNSC military for most of the 25th Century, proved in many cases unable to defeat their Insurgent counterparts. Unlike UNSC tanks, Innie tanks were, as a whole, almost all equipped with hard-kill active protective systems which proved capable of detecting and intercepting, with a previously unrecognized high degree of efficiency and probability, shells previously thought unstoppable such as APFSDS rounds. Reports from the field indicated the only way to defeat MBTs equipped with hard-kill APSs was to fire two shells in rapid succession at a single target; the initial shell would be intercepted and destroyed by the APS, however in the millisecond it took for the APS to reload, the second shell would be able to impact the target vehicle directly. On the battlefield that translated to the UNSC needing two Caracals each armed with a single 120mm cannon, to fire in tandem, at a single enemy target, which proved to be an absolute impossible task if more than one Innie MBT was present. UNSC High Command decreed there had to be a more efficient solution, and set about designing a new tank with dual cannon turret.

Initially, designers attempted to install a 40mm autocannon in the coaxial position of the turret in lieu of an entire secondary, full caliber, main gun. However, tests proved autocannon shells were both too small to trigger the APS, yet also too small to do any significant damage to enemy MBTs. Attempts were made to increase the second gun to a 90mm cannon instead, however it was quickly realized that due to limited ammunition storage capability aboard the tank, it made more logistical sense to have both cannons the same caliber so that they could share from the same ammunition pool. Thus, the M850 "Grizzly" main battle tank with dual M310 120mm smooth-bore high velocity cannons was born.

Officially adopted in 2509, Grizzlies quickly dominated the battlefield. With their twin cannons, heavy armor, and the UNSC logistical train supporting them, Grizzlies made short work of their Innie counterparts. However, once the initial battles were won, and the various Insurrectionist groups began adopting unconventional warfare tactics and strategies, Grizzlies proved to be unadaptable to the new style of war being fought. Their massive firepower proved to be very inefficient against soft targets, such as infantry, their high rate of fire meant they required constant resupply, and their dual cannons turned out to be a maintenance nightmare. Grizzlies were dealt with even more of a deathblow when the Covenant invaded. As Covenant Wrath tanks did not use hard-kill APS, the original justification for the extremely heavy and expensive twin gun turrets of the Grizzly became obsolete. As the tides of war increasingly turned against humanity, the UNSC began abandoning the Grizzly in favor of the M808 "Scorpions." Originally designed as an infantry fire support vehicle, Scorpions were cheaper, easier, and faster to build than the very complicated Grizzly tank. By 2545, Grizzly tanks could only be found among the UNSC Army's armored divisions, and various Colonial and Provincial Militias.


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

 **Factory District, Byzas, Thracia Province, Actium  
** **May 6, 2545  
1803**

" _INCOMING!"_

 _ **FWAWOOOMP!**_

A fuel rod cannon came shooting down the street, slamming directly into Shelia's upper glacis plate and exploded. Moss could see visible waves of heat rolling off in all directions. At the same time, an assortment of plasma fire began raining down on them, filling the air with the familiar scent of ozone. Moss saw one of the scouts from Bravo Team, Moss couldn't figure out which one, take a plasma bolt directly to the chest and topple out of sight before he came to his senses and dove for cover behind a nearby car.

" _Contact, contact! Direct front! Get down!"_ Moss heard Volkov scream over the radio while at the same time in his other ear, Rabinowitz was yelling _"Rover-1, this is Rover-3, be advised, we have been engaged!"_

"Shit, this is getting old," Moss muttered to himself before hollering, "Find cover! Bravo Team, Charlie Team, return fire! Griffin, start hosing down the fucking street! Pip, pop some smoke!"

" _3-2, this is 3-2 Bravo, I got a man down!"_ Oshiro warned.

"Roer! Man down, go!" Moss barked. "Pip, go with him. Norén, cover! Havoc, what's your status!"

Moss glanced back at Duvall, only to see him with the upper half of his torso still stick out from the hatch, unflinchingly firing the .50cal machine gun mounted on the top of the turret down the street even as plasma and needler rounds splashed and shattered off Shelia's armor around him.

"Havoc, get your fucking head down!" Moss yelled in alarm as a couple plasma bolts impacted the area right next to him.

" _Negative 3-2, get to cover, we'll suppress!"_ Duvall yelled back. _"Herat, load HE, follow my tracers, and fire when ready!"_

Moss watched as Shelia's cannons elevate and pan to the right. Then she fired.

 _ **VOOOMP!**_

"Ah shit!" Moss swore as the concussion from the cannon washed over him, scaring the shit out of him. For some reason, he hadn't expected the retort of the cannon to be so loud. And that was just one of the barrels. He quickly adjusted the settings on his helmet as Shelia made ready to fire again.

" _Traverse left! See that beige warehouse? The one with the windows? Put a Willy Pete through there! Fire when ready!"_

Shelia's cannon recoiled again and a white cloud exploded out of the window in question.

" _Herat, load up both barrels with canister shells and fire it down the street, discourage the Split-lips from massing on us. Then I want you hosing down the buildings on the left with the coax. I'll start suppressing the buildings on the right! Porkins, hold here! Rover-3, I'm going to pop smoke for you guys and suppress the street. You guys get off the road!"_

Even as Duvall spoke, two cylinders ejected out from the smoke dischargers on either side of Shelia's turret, launching a couple meters into the air before exploding, showering the street with a thick cloud of black smoke and hiding the end of the road from view.

Rolling upright, Moss shoved a breaching grenade into the breech of his M301 and pointed it at the wall of the building in front of him. "Fire in the hole!" he screamed as he pulled the trigger.

The grenade(1) flew through the air, slammed into the wall, triggering a time delay fuse as it buried itself into the brick. Once it had gotten about halfway through, the warhead exploded, creating a roughly man-sized hole in the wall.

"Bravo, secure your man down. Norén, Griffin, and Charlie Team on me, we're going inside!" Moss yelled as he scrambled upright. "3-1, 3-2, be advised, we're breaching Blue one-one right now!"

" _Copy. We're doing the same on our side."_

Moss sprinted across the street, throwing himself at the wall next to the breach. He bounced off and took a moment to catch his breath as both Alpha and Charlie Teams joined him.

"Norén, Griffin, with me, we're going in. Charlie, cover!"

Without waiting for a response, Moss rounded the corner and dashed inside and immediately began taking fire. His head snapped to the side as something heavy, a needler probably, glanced off the side of his helmet, wreaking his flashlight in the process. Somehow managing to keep his balance, Moss lifted his rifle and blindly emptied the magazine in the direction the fire was coming from. He slid into cover behind a heavy looking piece of machinery, with Norén and Griffin close behind him. The machine rocked as it was hit by several plasma bolts, but it held fast.

Norén leaned around the corner to return fire, quickly ducking back as an electrical panel exploded, throwing sparks over her.

"Where's that fire coming from?" Moss demanded, slapping a fresh mag in place.

"There's a catwalk at the other end of the warehouse," Norén breathlessly reported. "I counted three Grunts and one Skirmisher up there."

"We got to get the rest of the squad inside. On the count of three, we suppress that catwalk. Griffin, cover the left, Norén, you and me right. You go low, I go high." Moss popped an HEDP round into his grenade launcher. "Ready? Three, two, one, covering fire!"

Moss leaned around the machine and fired his grenade launcher. The grenade missed the catwalk by a good seven meters, but it definitely caught the attention of the Covenant, who immediately hit the deck. Moss let loose, firing as fast as he could pull the trigger, trying to keep their heads down. He glanced in the direction of the breach.

"Charlie, move!" Moss yelled, gesturing widely at them as Norén and Griffin continued to fire.

Charlie Team came sprinting over, dropping into cover behind the same machine Moss was. Back at the breach, Moss could see Bravo Team, along with Poblede and Roer, taking their place.

"Bravo Team, sitrep on your man down?"

" _Minor wounds. He's up, we're ready to move!"_

"Alright! Leave two to suppress and send the rest over. Charlie Team, hose that catwalk! Griffin and Norén, get ready we got to push further in!"

Moss poked his head around the corner to get a feel for the layout. He quickly realized they were in a tank factory. Turretless Scorpions were lined up in three rows, covering the entire factory floor. The space between each row of Scorpions formed a sort of miniature aisle, which gave the Covenant up on the catwalk perfect lines of fire on anyone advancing down them. Moss swore to himself before keying his mic.

"Alright, we've got two aisle we got to push down. Bravo, get your asses here now."

Moss waited until the rest of Bravo Team joined them. "Charlie, set up here and keep the fire on that catwalk. Alpha, take this right aisle, I'll take Bravo down the left. Call out your positions, keep an eye on your motion detectors, and push together. We don't know what's waiting for us down there, so move fast but check your corners. And watch your fire: this amount of steel, bullets will ricochet. Move!"

Take a moment to pop a buckshot round into his launcher, Moss turned the corner, rifle at the ready. He waited until he felt a hand squeeze his shoulder before advancing.

"Bravo, moving!" Moss announced.

" _Alpha moving!"_ he heard Poblede say in response.

Moss began moving down the aisle, his index finger hovering near the trigger to his grenade launcher, ready to drop any Covenant soldier that popped out. As he moved, he could sense Oshiro and the rest of Bravo following close behind and that fact made him nervous. Not so much because they were 1st Brigadiers, but because he'd been fighting with his team for so long he had gotten used to their presence, even Roer's. He knew exactly what to expect out of them, and how he should react to complement their actions. With Bravo, he had none of that. He could only hope they weren't complete idiots, and that they wouldn't accidently shoot him in the back.

They cleared the first tank without incident, and Moss glanced down at his IFF tracker to make sure Alpha was keeping pace. They were, so Moss continued to push forward. Then a Grunt walked out from between the tanks in front of them.

"Contact front!" Moss bellowed, dropping down to one knee to clear the firing lane.

Immediately Bravo's SAW gunner opened up, firing an extended burst into the Grunt directly over Moss' head. Moss could feel the heat from the man's muzzle flash on the back of his neck as the Grunt slumped against one of the nearby tanks, a pool of blood forming beneath him.

"Reloading," Eggert announced, allowing his drum mag drop to the floor with a clatter. Moss turned to glare at him.

"Don't fucking do that," Moss snarled.

"What? Reload?"

"No, don't…"

 _SPLAT!_

Eggert's face dissolved as he was hit head-on by a green plasma bolt. His body toppled to the ground as Moss whirled around. He spotted two Jackals hiding inside one of the Scorpion shells near the end of the aisle, firing down both sides. Moss fired his grenade launcher, but the rounds smacked against the turret ring and disappeared in oblivion. He rapidly switched over to his rifle but the Jackal began hosing down the entire aisle with plasma fire.

" _Contact front! Bravo, we're pinned down, can you support?"_ Poblede called out.

Moss was unable to reply as he found himself in a similar state. Hemmed in on both sides by Scorpion tanks, there wasn't anywhere Moss could go. As plasma fire rained down all around him, Moss tried to duck behind one of the bogie wheels next to him, but there was barely enough space for his arm, much less his entire body.

"I need fire superiority!" Moss desperately screamed, even though he knew the rest of Bravo probably couldn't move any more than he could. "Suppress those Jackals so we can get close and flush them out with grenades!"

Moss tried to remove a smoke grenade from his belt but a plasma bolt blew it right out of his hand. "Shit! Shoot that fucker!"

"Sergeant, USE THE FUCKING TANK!" Oshiro screamed from behind him.

If things weren't so desperate, Moss would have smacked himself for forgetting all about Shelia. As it were though, Moss barely had enough room to reach over to his TACPAD, set a navpoint, and key his mic.

"Rover 3-2 to Havoc-3, open fire on that navpoint!" Moss screamed.

 _BOOMBOOMBOOMBOOM!_

Heavy machine gun fire instantly punched right through the outer wall and began impacting the area where the Jackals were, but because they were taking cover inside a Scorpion tank, the .50cal rounds hardly did anything and in fact, made things worse as some of the rounds began ricocheting off the armor. Red-orange tracer were bouncing all over the place, one of which hit the ground right next to Moss, leaving a nasty looking gash in the concrete. The one good thing the machine gun fire did was force the Jackals' head down, giving Moss just enough time to get back on the radio and clarify exactly what Shelia was shooting at.

"Havoc, cease fire with the MG! Target is inside a Scorpion tank! Drop about thirty centimeters and re-engage with the main cannon!"

" _Copy that 3-2, re-engaging with the 120. Herat, load up a SABOT, go down half a degree and fire when ready!"_

 _ **CLANK!**_

Sparks were thrown in all directions as the supersonic tungsten dart slammed into the tank the Jackals were in, but there was no explosion which, in hindsight, made perfect sense as these tanks were probably not loaded with fuel and ammunition. Moss hastily jumped back on the radio.

"Havoc, 3-2. Target is inside a stripped down tank. Recommend you use a HE round, over."

" _Wilco 3-2. Herat, load HEAT, fire in the same spot. Send it!"_

 _ **KABOOM!**_

A small fireball shot out from the top of the turret ring as Herat put another shell right through the same hole the SABOT round had made.

"Alpha, Bravo, push push push!" Moss shouted, quickly making his way down the aisle. As he moved, he set up another navpoint, this time over the catwalk. "Havoc, switch targets to new navpoint. New target is a metal catwalk with four foot mobiles, copy, over?"

" _Target acquired. Firing… now!"_

Moss was peppered with bits of masonry as another 120mm shell blew through the wall above and behind him. The shell hit the catwalk roughly center left, cutting the deck in half. There was a loud metal _SNAP_ as the catwalk's support brackets failed, and the entire catwalk collapsed. The entire structure hit the ground several meters in front of Moss with a tremendous _CRASH,_ through a cloud of dust into the air.

Surprisingly, a couple of the Covenant managed to survive the impact. As Moss drew close, the Skirmisher emerged from the wreckage, a jagged metal rod sticking out from his back. Despite the amount of pain he had to have been in, the Skirmisher still attempted to raise his needle rifle and Moss quickly shot him a few times.

"Havoc-3, Rover 3-2. Good shot. Thanks for your help, we're good for now. 3-2, out," Moss hoarsely said before switching channels. "Charlie, on me. Alpha, sweep the rest of the area and then consolidate on me. Bravo Team, secure your KIA, break! 3-1, this is 3-2. Blue one-one secured, moving onto Blue one-two, over."

" _Copy. We're still trying to clear our building. Give us about two minutes to secure the area and then we'll move together, break. Rover 3-1 to Havoc-3, as soon as we've entered the next building, push past the first buildings, over."_

" _This is Havoc-3, copy your traffic."_

"Rover 3-2, wilco, let us know when you're ready. Out."

Moss quickly swapped out his magazine for a fresh one and popped another breaching grenade into his launcher as his squad started to gather around him. Moss noticed Oshiro was now sporting Eggert's SAW, his own assault rifle slung over his shoulder, pressed up against the SRAAW he was also carrying.

"Everybody alright?" Moss called out to the group in general. "Everyone, pop in a fresh mag and get ready to hit the next building. Bravo will cover, Charlie will lead."

Moss fired the breaching grenade into the wall, creating an entrance into a small alleyway between buildings.

"Bravo, clear the alley."

Oshiro and Asoka ducked into the alleyway. Moments later, Oshiro called out "Clear!"

Moss entered the alley and pressed up against the outer wall of the next building. "Pip, load up a breaching grenade and put it right here when I tell you," he ordered, slapping his hand against a random spot on the wall. "Charlie Team, stack up. I'll lead, Major Volkov will follow up the rear.

Moss planted himself next to where the hole would be and waited as the two militiamen moved to stand behind him, with Volkov at the rear. As they stood there, waiting for Rabinowitz to give them the clear, Moss noticed Chiotis, who was third in line, was just standing there.

"Private Chiotis, what are you doing?" Moss asked him. "Prep a grenade."

"No, no, a frag grenade," he added as Chiotis pulled out a smoke grenade.

"Uh, for what Sergeant?" Chiotis asked.

A thought suddenly occurred to Moss and he glanced at Dubois, who was standing right behind him. "Hey, you guys know how to assault a building, right?"

Dubois stared at him like he was an idiot. "Falcon mechanics," she said slowly, pointing at herself and Chiotis. "Why would the Army waste money teaching us how to assault a building when we could, oh, I don't know, be fixing Falcons?"

Moss sighed. "Damn. In that case, Major, I think you should enter directly behind me." He waited until Volkov had moved up. "You go left, I'll go right?"

"Fine by me," Volkov agreed.

"Okay, here's the deal Privates. When we pop this hole, I want Chiotis to throw his frag into the room. As soon as it explodes, Volkov, Dubois and I will rush in. The moment we enter, I will sweep the right side of the room, the Major will sweep the left. I want Dubois to cover our front." He glanced over at Dubois. "This block should be cleared of civilians so if you see anyone, shoot them. Got it?"

"Yes Sergeant."

"Good."

Moss turned started to turn away, but then another thought occurred to him. He glanced at Chiotis. "You do know how to use a frag grenade, right?"

Chiotis nodded and Moss shook his head. At least there was that.

" _3-2, 3-1. Ready to breach yellow one two, over."_

Moss grabbed his mic. "Copy that. Pip, blow it."

He turned his head away as the wall exploded. As the dust began to settle, Moss gestured at Chiotis. "Frag out!"

He heard Chiotis smack the grenade against his helmet and heave it inside. There was a loud _POP_ as the grenade exploded, and Moss quickly rushed inside before the dust had even begun to settle.

Bursting into the building, Moss quickly stepped to the right and swept that side of the building. Finding no targets, he lowered his rifle and announced, "Right clear."

"Left clear," Volkov report a few moments later.

"Center clear?" Dubois hesitantly stated.

Moss glanced over his shoulder to confirm. Aside from a few idle conveyor belts and robotic arms, the building was completely empty. "All clear!"

As the rest of the squad entered, Moss began ordering them around. "Alpha, sweep up the left. Bravo, right side. Charlie, with me down the center. Keep your eyes peeled."

As they cautiously moved through the building, Moss could hear machine gun fire coming from across the street, and Rabinowitz calling for support over the radio.

" _Havoc, 3-1. Need a canister round fired at this waypoint."_

As Moss scanned the catwalks above them, he heard Shelia firing, followed by the soft clatter of debris landing on the street. He wondered how many more shells Shelia had, and whether she'd be able to keep up the fire support for the entirety of the rest of the two blocks.

" _That was good Havoc, but I need you to fire again at the same target, over."_

Shelia fired again, but this time Moss could hear her following up with a couple machine gun burst.

" _Target destroyed. Good shot Havoc."_

" _Anytime 3-1."_

The radio fell silent just as Moss and his squad reached the end of the building, having encountered no resistance. Moss keyed his mic. "3-2 to 3-1."

" _Send it."_

"Have reached the end of Blue one-two, ready to move on to Blue one-three, over."

" _Copy. You are cleared to proceed."_

"Understood. 3-2, out."

Blasting another hole into the next alley, they piled out of building. There, they found a metal door leading into the next building. Moss stared at it, weighing the risk of barging in through such an obvious place versus the benefit of saving a breaching round and ultimately decided it was worth it. Still, that didn't meant he didn't have to take precautions.

"Alpha Team will breach," Moss decided. "Griffin, you still got your shotgun? Blow the hinges off. Pip will lead, sweep to the left, Norén to the right, Roer down the middle."

Moss moved out of the way and waited as Alpha Team got into position. At Poblede's nod, Griffin raised his shotgun and methodically blasted both hinges, and then the lock, before kicking the door in as hard he could. The door landed with a loud _BANG_ , and Roer quickly tossed a frag inside.

"Breaching, breaching!" Poblede barked as the explosion subsided and all three of them went tearing inside.

"3-1, this is 3-2, we are entering blue one-three now," Moss report.

" _Acknowledged."_

" _All clear!"_ Poblede reported.

Gesturing for Bravo Team to follow him, Moss entered the building, rifle at the ready, just in case. He was greeted by the sight of a couple dozen Warthog utility vehicles, minus their turrets, covering the floor. Moss was beginning to think these buildings weren't so much as factories as they were storage facilities for finished, or mostly finished, products. Whatever the case was, this building appeared to be just as devoid of resistance as the last one so Moss gestured for his squad to advance. They had gotten about halfway through the building when -

 _ **FWOOZFWOOZFWOOZFWOOZFWOOZFWOOZ!**_

A heavy plasma bolt slammed into the engine of the Warthog on Moss' left, blowing the hood off. He automatically hit the floor as the first bolt was followed up by half a dozen more, which quickly shredded the Warthog, leaving behind a smoldering wreak.

"Contact!" Moss screamed as the entire row of Warthogs were hosed down with plasma fire.

" _Where's it coming from?"_

" _Nine o'clock, high!"_

Moss quickly poked his head above his smoking cover. Covering the upper half of the wall to their left had been a series of muggy casement windows facing the street. Moss hadn't really given them much thought when he first entered the building, but now they had been all been shattered. Beyond them, Moss could see a plasma cannon, mounted on the roof directly across from, firing directly at them, the source of their incoming fire. Beside the cannon, Moss could barely make out the figures of another three Grunts and a couple of Jackals running around.

"Rover 3-1, 3-2. We're pinned down by fire from a plasma cannon mounted on the roof of yellow one three!" Moss yelled, ducking down as he saw the cannon swinging back around. "I say again, on the roof of the building you're in! Request you get up there and eliminate it from the rear!"

The fire moved on and Moss raised up to return fire, but gunfire from one of the Jackals forced him back down.

" _3-2, 3-2. Those guys must have roped down from an airship because I can't find a way up there!"_ Rabinowitz reported.

He might have tried to say something else, but Moss quickly cut him off by hitting the talk button on his radio. "Havoc-3, can you support?" he asked.

" _Negative 3-2. Our barrels can't traverse up that high. We're back up to try and get a better angle. Hold tight 3-2!"_

"Negative, Havoc," Moss replied. "We don't have time." He quickly switched channels. "Norén, see if you can't hit that thing with the SRAAW!"

" _I thought we were saving that for the Hunters,"_ she replied.

"Bravo has got another one and if we don't deal with this asshole, we're not going to have to worry about the Hunters!"

" _Copy. I need some cover though."_

"Alright guys, listen up!" Moss yelled. "We're going to lay down some suppressing fire! Once Norén hits it with her rocket, I want all grenadiers to follow up with a salvo of HE! On my mark!" Moss hastily loaded a fresh mag and tossed a grenade into his launcher, before switched his radio back to PLATOONCOM. "3-1, 3-2, be advised we're going to try and hit that turret with a rocket. Stand clear in cause the ceiling caves in, over."

" _Understood! You're clear to fire at any time 3-2!"_

Moss lowered his mic and screamed out loud, "Covering fire!"

The entire squad opened on the turret. Sticking his rifle over the ruins of his cover, Moss blindly fired in the direction of the turret. In his peripheral vision, he could see Norén hastily arming the SRAAW and planting it onto her shoulder.

" _Rocket!"_ she screamed, then stood up and fired.

 _ **WHOOMP!**_

A cloud of dust was thrown into Moss' face as the muzzle blast from the rocket passed down the row. As a result, he wasn't able to see the impact, but he could hear the explosion. "Frags out!"

Standing up, Moss fired his grenade launcher. For good measure, he loaded another one and fired again, and watched as the roof buckled, then collapse.

"2nd Squad, cease fire, cease fire!" Moss yelled.

Across the street, machine gun fire rang out again.

" _3-2, target destroyed,"_ Rabinowitz reported as the gunfire died down.

"Copy that."

"Fuck," Poblede exclaimed, climbing to his feet with sweat dripping from his brow. "How many more buildings do we have to clear?"

"Two more on this block, then another five on the next. Then we have to take the LZ itself."

"Shit."

"We got to keep moving guys," Moss urged as he dropped another breaching grenade into his launcher. "We can't give the Covenant enough time to reorganize. Next building. Bravo will lead, Charlie will cover. 3-1, 3-2. We're moving onto the next building, over."

" _Copy."_

Blasting their way forward, they cleared the next two buildings without running into any more resistance, something that left Moss both parts worried and annoyed. He'd been hoping they would be able to catch the Covenant out in the open but, by the looks of it, the Covenant were doing the smart thing and retreating back to the LZ. Dislodging the Covenant from fortified positions was a lot more difficult than outflanking them.

"Alright, everyone, listen up!" Moss breathlessly called out as they finishing clearing the last building on the block. "We're going to have to cross the street into the next block. Here's what I want to happen. Asoka, make us an entrance onto the street. Pip, make us an exit off the street. Once the route is open, Major Volkov and I are going to pop some gray smoke, block off the road. Once the smoke gets thick enough, we'll cross in teams: Charlie will lead, followed by Alpha, with Bravo in the rear. Asoka, on my order."

Yanking a smoke grenade off his belt, Moss keyed his mic. "3-1, 3-2. Blue one-five is secured, we're prepared to cross Phase Line Pyrenees. How copy, over?"

" _3-2, hold your position. The other platoons haven't reached this point yet so waiting for them to catch up. Set up a perimeter and await further orders. Do you copy that 3-2?"_

"Affirmative. 3-2 is holding fast and awaiting your order. Out."

Moss let out a mute exhale of relief as he muted his mic. "Alright squad, stand down. We're holding position until the other platoons can catch up." He gestured to the crates that surrounded them. "Find cover and set up a perimeter," he ordered.

Removing his glasses, Moss wiped his face down with his gloves before moving over to Poblede, catching her as 2nd Squad fanned out. "Hey. Let me steal some of your water."

Reaching up to her collar, she removed the straw to her hydration pack. She took a quick sip herself before handing it over to Moss, who gratefully inhaled a mouthful of cold water, letting it trickle down his throat. He winced as he felt a tweak in the side of his neck as he swallowed, and he reflexively grabbed it.

"You alright?" Poblede quickly asked.

Moss coughed, letting the straw drop out of his mouth. "Yeah," he sputtered as soon as he could. "I took a glancing blow to the head back in that first building. Pulled a muscle in my neck. At least I hope it's just a strain."

Poblede nodded sympathetically. "Yeah. I accidently soaked myself in the jaw with the stock of my rifle back in that third building. Bit my tongue and I think I chipped a tooth. Man, I'm falling apart. I'm so fucking tired right now."

"Me too. Reaching my limit. Not sure how much longer I can keep this up to be honest."

"Can you believe it's only been, what, five, six hours since we landed on this shitty planet?" Poblede lamented. "Feels like we've been fighting in this damn city for at least a week now."

"And we still haven't reached our damn objective," Moss complained. "And you know what? I don't even think that's the worst part. The worst part is, I still have no idea what we're looking for. And you know how much I hate surprises."

" _3-2, this is 3-1."_

Moss groaned. He vigorously scrubbed his face, as if he could wipe away his exhaustion, and keyed his mic. "Go ahead 3-1."

" _3-2, change of plans. I need you to take a detached fireteam from your squad two blocks over to ASR Elbe. Rover-2 is pinned down and taking heavy casualties. They need reinforcements now, over."_

Moss exchanged a glance with Poblede, who rolled her eyes. "Copy 3-1. What am I supposed to do with the rest of my squad, over?"

" _I'm sending over Rover 3-15 to take over. We're going to continue to push onto the LZ. Once you have freed Rover-2, attach yourself to that unit and continue to assist them in their advance to the LZ. We'll rendezvous at the southwest corner of LZ Echo once we've secured the area. You copy all that 3-2?"_

"Solid copy 3-1. 3-2, out."

Muting his mic, Moss glanced over at Poblede. "You hear all that?"

"God dammit," she spat, which Moss figured meant 'yes.' "You know, if I had known I was going to spend most of my time on the frontline doing infantry shit, I would have enlisted as an 11X(2), not a 12 Bravo(3). Fuck!"

"What," Moss said sarcastically as he quickly reorganized his magazines. "Are you telling me you're not having fun slogging through the cold and the snow, fighting against the dregs of the Covenant Empire behind enemy lines? That you'd rather be in the rear with the gear, building fortifications and setting up mine fields, like an _actual_ engineer?"

"You're right. What was I think?"

Moss grinned before re-keying in his mic. "Listen up 2nd Squad, change of plans. I'm taking Alpha Team two blocks over to ASR Elbe to support Rover-2. The rest of you will continue onto the LZ. Sergeant Xanthus from 1st Squad is coming over to take charge. Alpha Team, assemble at the rear."

Gesturing at Poblede, they walked over to the back of the building. As they walked, Moss activated his TACPAD and pulled up a map of the AO, looking for the quickest route they could take to Rover-2's position, all the while without exposing themselves unnecessarily. He noticed a small back alley that ran roughly parallel to Phase Line Pyrenees that would allow his team to reach the intersection of Pyrenees and Elbe without exposing themselves to sniper fire.

Reaching the back of the building, Moss found Norén, Griffin, and Roer assembled and waiting for orders.

"There's a back alley that will take us to ASR Elbe," Moss reported without preamble. "We'll take that. There's got to be a back door to this fucking place, so let's go looking for one."

"Hang on," Norén said, raising up a hand. "What exactly are we doing?"

"Apparently Rover-2 is pinned down so we're going over to help."

"Pinned down by what?"

Moss shrugged. "I would imagine by enemy fire."

Norén rolled her eyes. "No shit Sergeant. Could you be more specific? Are they getting pinned down by heavy weapons? Small arms fire? Are the fucking Hunters attacking? Do we have the proper amount of firepower to deal with this situation?"

"I have no idea Norén," Moss said tiredly. "Guess we'll find out when we get there."

Norén frowned. "Okay. Do we have any idea where the enemy is in relation to Rover-2? Is this really the best route to take? How do you know we're not going to pop out right in the middle of the Covenant's line of fire?"

"I don't," Moss admitted. "But we know the other platoons haven't reached this Phase Line yet so we should be fine."

"Should be," Norén echoed. "Alright, let me ask this then. Why do we have to support them? Why not Rover-1? They're closer."

Moss threw his hands in the air. "I don't fucking Norén. All I know is what they fucking told me, which was to bring a team over to help out. That's it."

Norén's face fell. "You didn't ask?"

"No, I didn't fucking ask."

"You know Sergeant, not asking questions is the reason why we're in fucking situation to begin with," Norén snapped.

Moss felt a surge of anger rise within him, and he did his best to lock it down. But still, he couldn't stop some of the anger from leaking into his voice as he growled, "Specialist, I don't give a shit what you think. Shut the fuck up and do as you're told."

He glared at her, who glared right back. They continued to lock eyes and internally, a small part of Moss knew he was being irrational, that the questions Norén raised were valid questions that needed to be answered but for the most part, Moss found he just couldn't bring himself to care. He knew that was the exhaustion speaking and he knew that was an unacceptable attitude for a leader to have, so he did his best to swallow his pride. But just when he was about to relent, Norén turned away first.

"Fine, we'll do as you say Sergeant," Norén snapped. "But I am going to grab that SAW and SRAAW from Bravo Team and pray that extra firepower is enough to get us through this. But for the record, if any one of us gets killed or wounded doing this, that's on you Sergeant."

She stormed away before Moss could say anything, leaving him with a horrible sinking feeling in his stomach. He wanted to apologize, but he found he just didn't have the words to say anything. He glanced at the rest of his squad, but Poblede was studiously avoiding his gaze, Roer looked confused, and Griffin clearly hadn't been paying attention, leaving Moss to stew in his misery. They waited in silence until Norén came back.

"I'll be on point," Moss mutely announced. "Griffin, you're second with Norén covering our six. Leave a five meter space between the point man and the rest of the patrol." Moss figured that was enough space that if they ran into any trouble, his team would be able to retreat without too much difficulty. He stole a subtle glance at Norén, but she was pointedly not looking in direction and he nervously swallowed. "Let's go."

Moss led the way into the back alley. With his rifle at the ready, his index finger and middle finger hovering near the triggers to both his rifle and grenade launcher, Moss moved from one dumpster to another, scanned every rooftop and fire escape that lined both sides of the alley, searching for enemy movement. In the distance, they could hear heavy weapons fire: machine guns, plasma weaponry, and the distinct sound of fuel rod cannons, which only grew louder the further they continued to advance.

The alley soon opened up onto MSR Rhine and Moss quickly took cover behind a dumpster and gulped at the sight that laid in front of them: blue and green plasma and red-orange tracers crisscrossed the roadway. Occasionally there would be a retort of a tank cannon, which would be replied in turn by green and red streaks of fuel rod cannons and concussion rifles, respectively.

There was a scuffle of feet behind him and Griffin dropped down to one knee beside Moss. "Cool," he said in awe at the sight. "You got to admit, firefights are really colorful."

"We really have to cross through this firestorm Sergeant?" Roer asked. "How are we supposed to do that without getting killed?"

Moss shook his head. "Not sure. Well, at least we know why Rover-1 can't help Rover-2," he awkwardly pointed out, glancing in Norén's direction. She either didn't notice or was deliberately ignoring him because she continued to stare, transfixed at the sight in front of her. "Anyone got any ideas?"

"Well," Poblede began and Moss could almost hear the thoughtful frown in her voice. "We could try smoking out the road…"

She trailed off as Moss began shaking his head before she finished speaking. "Can't. We'll block Rover-1's line of sight if we do that and there's a good chance these REMFs will shoot us in the back by accident."

"Well, what do you suggest then?"

"We might have to circle back and go behind Rover-1," Moss said. "Hang on, let me get a hold of them, see if they can help." He quickly switched his radio from PLATOONCOM over to the general channel. "Rover-1, this is Rover 3-2 Alpha, over?"

" _3-2 Alpha, this is 1! Go ahead!"_ someone said. It wasn't Menteith or Takala, or at least Moss didn't think it was. It was a little hard to tell, with all the explosions in the background.

"1, I'm pinging my location. I'm trying to bring a team over to Rover-2's position and I need to cross the street, right through your line of fire. Any way you can help, over?"

" _3-2 Alpha, hold position! We're calling in a rocket strike on Covenant positions! Once we've suppressed them, you'll be able to cross, over!"_

"Copy! Where's the strike hitting?" Moss asked before quickly turning to address his team. "Hey, we got a MRL strike inbound. Once it hits, we cross!" He quickly turned back to see a target marker hovering over a position dangerously close to his location. "Whoa! 1, that's way too close to us. Hold up on the strike until we can get back, over!"

"… _The strike has already been called in 3-2. Thirty seconds to splash."_

Moss didn't bother wasting precious time responding. Instead, he shoved his radio aside and began herding his squad against the far wall. "Guys, we've got a danger close rocket strike inbound, thirty seconds! Get down!"

Without waiting for a confirmation, Moss tossed himself against the ground, putting himself as close to the wall he possibly could without actually touching it. Then, as the howl of the first few rockets coming in filled the air, he curled himself into a small ball, hoping upon hoping it would be enough to protect him against most of the shrapnel.

The air violently shook as the entire ground rumbled. Their position around the corner from ground zero meant most of the worst of the strike would miss them, but even then, Moss could hear the shriek of shrapnel flying through the air before impacting the wall behind and in front of them and he could feel himself trembling with fear. It didn't seem to matter how many danger close fire support missions he'd survived; one simply didn't get used to the feel of abject terror that came with being inside the blast radius of an artillery shell or airstrike. Their only saving grace was the fact that they could hear the howl of the rockets as they came flying in, which meant they weren't exploding directly overhead.

Relief came after a few seconds had passed and Moss let out a sigh of relief as he heard the howl of rockets fade away. That was the good thing about multiple rocket launcher systems: their inability to sustain long term barrages.

Silence descended upon the streets and Moss cautiously lifted his head. His muscles were sore, his head was beginning to hurt, and his ears were ringing ever so slightly, but he appeared to have survived the worst of the strike.

"You know, can I just say something?" Poblede complained as she staggered upright. "I'm getting a little sick and tired of the UNSC military trying to kill me. This is what, the fourth danger close strike on our position today, _alone_? I'm a loyal UNSC citizen, okay? What exactly have I done to deserve this?"

"Trust me," Norén interjected. "As someone who's been a target of these strikes before, they're not even coming close."

Moss ignored them and glanced towards the roadway. Aside from a cloud of dust floating through the intersection, the area was clear, the gunfire having abated for the moment. "Well, that stopped the firefight. Now's our chance to cross. Roer, you and Norén cross first, followed up by Griffin and Pip. I'll cover and follow up the rear. Move fast and keep your heads down. Go."

"Whoa whoa, why do I have to go first?" Roer protested.

"He's doing you a favor," Norén snapped. "Covies are still reeling from the shock. They won't be expecting or be ready for you to come dashing out of an alley. It's people at the rear that have to worry because the first ones always alert the enemy. Now either step aside or move your ass."

Roer glanced over in Moss' direction, a thankful look on his face, but Moss violently gestured for him to run. He nodded and both he and Norén started out of the alley. Moss adopted a firing position at the corner, his rifle pointed in the direction of the Covenant and began scanning for targets. Keeping one eye down the street, Moss watched his IFF tracker as two yellow dots managed to make it safely across without drawing any fire. Holding his rifle steady, he gestured at Poblede and Griffin to cross with his free hand. When they made it across without drawing any fire, Moss lowered his rifle and began making the dash to safety.

"WORT WORT WORT!"

 _FWOOZ!_

Moss heard the discharge of a plasma rifle and felt his shoulders burn as a plasma bolt pass just over his head. At the same time, he heard someone scream out, "CONTACT FRONT, FIRE!"

 _POP POP_ _ **CRACK!**_

"Fuck!" Moss screamed a red-orange tracer round passed within millimeters of his face. He slid to cover behind a shot-up truck sitting in the middle of the road as the gunfire began picking up, and the firefight began in earnest again.

Sticking his rifle over his head, Moss fired randomly down the street as plasma and bullets whizzed overhead and impacted all around him.

"Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!" Moss screamed as he emptied the magazine.

"Moss, run!" Poblede screamed. She and Roer were at the mouth of the next alley, gesturing wildly for him to join them while Griffin and Norén were doing their best to lay down suppressive fire with their SAWs. The entrance to alley was barely six meters away but given the amount of crossfire, it might as well have been a lightyear away.

" _3-2 Alpha, get your man out of the way!"_ Rover-1 screamed into his ear. _"He's in our line of fire!"_

"I'm working on it!" Moss screamed out loud to no one in particular.

Gritting his teeth, Moss decided to just run for it. Reloading, he took a deep breath…

And took off running.

The _crack_ of supersonic projectiles flying by his head was drowned out by the amount of yelling he was hearing over the radio, but what exactly was being said Moss had no idea as he was too busy concentrating on running. Well, "running;" it was more like a half-ass shuffle as Moss did his best to dodge and skip and avoid all gunfire thrown in his direction. But he had barely gotten a few steps when white fury pain exploded from his left foot and he lost his balance. He pitched forward and came crashing down into the street.

"Ah fuck!" Moss yelped as he looked down and saw he'd been hit. Fresh blood was leaking from a hole in his boot, but he could still feel his toes, which he figured was a good sign.

"Hang on Sergeant!" Roer hollered, shedding his gear. "I'm coming!"

"No, you stay the fuck there!" Moss demanded, wincing a hole was blasted in the pavement by his head. "Pip, keep him there! I'll get myself out!"

Doing his best to keep his foot still, Moss began crawling forward on his belly. He was reminded of his time during jump school when they were forced to go through an obstacle course very similar to the situation he was in right now. They had been forced to crawl through some mud under a maze of barbed wire laced with fresh pig guts while bullets were fired a good half meter over their heads. It had been both an exhilarating and terrifying experience, one that Moss had never really thought he would ever need to do again. But now that he was, Moss found himself moving far faster than he had during training. As it turned out, fear was an excellent motivator. And so was pain.

Moss crawled until he was close enough Roer could reach out and grab him.

"Get him up, get him up!" Poblede urged.

"Sergeant, let me take a look at your foot!" Roer demanded.

Moss shoved him. "Back up! Get away from the entrance!" he ordered. "Norén and Griffin are drawing too much fire! Get back into the alley!"

He hobbled passed Roer further into the alley, leaving him no choice but to follow. Behind him, he could hear Norén and Griffin disengaging and they had gotten a few meters further in when -

 _ **KABOOOM**_ _!_

\- Moss was knocked off his feet by an explosion behind him. He gritted his teeth to prevent himself from scream as the blow jarred his wounded foot and he rolled over to see a fuel rod cannon had impacted the corner of the building Norén and Griffin had been moments before. The blast had caused part of the wall to collapse, block the exit.

"It's a good thing we need to go forward, huh?" Griffin noted with a grin.

"Shut the fuck up Griffin and watch the other end," Poblede snapped. "Roer, get Moss up and mobile again."

"Got it Pip!"

"Hey! I thought I fucking told you not to call me Pip?"

Moss grunted in pain as Roer carefully unlaced his boot and slowly slid it off his foot.

"So much for an armored boot, huh?" Moss painfully quipped at the sight of blood gushing from a hole at the top of his foot. "Shit that burns."

Roer quickly looked the wound over. "Well, it looks like you were hit by a stray 7.62 bullet. Good news is, I think it was an armored piercing one, so it was a through and through," he reported.

"That's good news?" Moss said through gritting teeth.

"Well, that means there isn't a piece of metal floating around inside your body. It did however break several of your bones on the way through so… that might interfere with your ability to walk. But!" Roer hastily added. "I think if I pack both entry and exit wounds with biofoam and secure it in place with a bandage, it should keep you mobile, at least up until the biofoam breaks down. Either way, I think you're going to be walking with a limp for a while."

"You think?" Moss repeated.

"Hey, you're the one who made me play doctor, Sergeant."

"Touché," Moss muttered. "Alright, fine, just do whatever you think is best. Just get it done."

"I'm going to give you something for the pain, okay?"

"Fuck, just stick it in the snow," Griffin suggested. "Can't feel a thing if it's frozen, right?"

"Shut it Griffin."

"You're going to feel a numbing sensation. That's a good thing. Should last for a couple of hours," Roer informed him.

"Just do what you need to Roer," Moss told him. "I trust you."

Roer nodded and Moss winced as he felt a needle pierce his skin just above his ankle, before his entire foot went numb. Sighing in relief, he looked away as Roer quickly applied the biofoam and wrapped up his foot with a piece of cloth.

"Okay, try it now."

With Poblede's help, Moss stood up and gingerly put his foot onto the ground. There was an odd prickly sensation, kind of like that feel he had when he accidently sat on his foot for too long, and he found he couldn't really flex his toes that well, but all that he could ignore.

"Good enough," Moss reported, sliding his boot back on. "Can't waste any more time, we got to move. Where's my rifle?"

"I'll take point," Poblede volunteered as Roer handed Moss his weapon. "Don't even try protesting dude, you're wounded."

Moss shut his mouth with a mute click. "Fine. Let's go then."

They headed down the alley. Before they had gotten even halfway though, Moss radio came to life.

" _Rover 3-2 Alpha, Rover-2. Where the fuck are you guys! We need you right now!"_

Moss gestured for his team to hit the wall. "2, 3-2 Alpha. ETA, thirty seconds to your location. We are advancing down a back alley, we will be emerging near the southwest corner of Elbe and Pyrenees. How copy, over?"

" _Copy! We're getting pinned down by some sort of heavy weapons emplace at the northeast corner of that intersection! We'll try to keep them distracted but you need you hurry up! I'm losing guys left and right! Out!"_

Moss gestured for his team to hold position. "Okay, sounds like we're going to see some sort of Covie emplacement directly across from us diagonally the moment we emerge. So, let's slow it down." He gestured at a nearby fire escape. "Pip, I want you to take Roer and give me some top cover. I'll take Norén and Griffin down the center. We don't know exactly what we're about to run into, so take it nice and easy."

Moss waited as Poblede and Roer approached the fire escape. The bottom flight of stairs were folded up, but Moss watched as Poblede climb onto Roer's shoulders, getting high enough to where she could wrap a small amount of detcord around the lock holding the ladder in place. They cleared the area and there a small _pop_ as the cord exploded, destroying the lock, and the ladder came crashing down with a loud clatter. Moss waited until Poblede and Roer had disappeared behind the edge of the roof before gesturing for Norén and Griffin to follow him.

"How's it look up there Pip?" Moss asked over the radio as he slowly advanced.

" _Rest of the alley looks clear. Don't think the Covies know it's here. There's a nice pickup truck blocking the entrance, so you guys will have some cover."_

"What about that emplacement?"

" _It's not really an emplacement per se. It kind of looks like they ripped the turret off an AA Wraith and attached it to the ceiling somehow. But it's covering the entire street plus, they've got some mounted plasma cannons underneath. They got that street locked down pretty good."_

"Copy that. We're approaching now."

Indicating to Norén and Griffin to hold their positions, Moss awkwardly crouch-walked until he was able to take cover behind the truck Poblede had told him about. Ducking behind one of the wheel wells, Moss carefully peaking his head over the hood.

It was just like Poblede said. The Covenant had removed the turret off an AA Wraith and, using a crane mounted to the ceiling of the warehouse, raised the turret up so it had some elevation. Moss wasn't sure how they did all that, but it clearly worked. He watched as it fired a full spread of fuel rod cannons down the street, which exploded somewhere in the distance.

On the ground beneath the turret were a number of Covenant supply crates laying on their sides, arranged in a sort of 'U' shape to form a defensive barricade. They were defended by a small section of Covenant infantry; from his position, Moss could count at least eight Grunts, maybe three Jackals, and at least one Skirmisher in charge of them all. And if that wasn't enough, positioned in the space between the crates were two plasma cannons manned by Grunts, who were laying down a tremendous amount of plasma fire. All in all, it wasn't quite the high tech defensive position Moss was used to seeing, but given the fact the UNSC had, at least for the moment, cut their supply lines, Moss supposed the Covenant were forced to improvise. But improvised or not, it was clearly effective, as all the bullet holes, shrapnel scars, and rocket craters could attest.

"Rover-2, 3-2 Alpha," Moss said over the radio while indicating for Norén and Griffin to join him. "I've got eyes on enemy position, over."

" _3-2, do whatever you have to, take out that bunker! I've already lost one my tanks and taken multiple casualties! Take it out now!"_

"How do you want to do this Sergeant?" Norén asked as Moss turned away from the radio. "I could hit that turret with the SRAAW, eliminate the main threat, then we could have Rover-2 mop up with the tank."

"Negative, save it. We'll set up a satchel charge instead; toss it inside and we should be able to take out just about everyone in one swoop," Moss said, even as he began assembling the charge.

"You realize that means someone is going to have to run out there and plant it, right?"

"Yes. We'll lay down a base of fire with both machine guns here. I'll take the charge and plant it. Once the bomb goes off, Pip and Roer will cover us from above while us three hit that building and mop up any survivors. Then we'll join the rest of Rover-2 as they continue their push to the LZ. Sound good?"

"Yeah," Norén replied. "Except for one thing: you just got shot through the foot. I'll take the charge and plant it instead."

Moss hesitated.

"We don't have time to argue," Norén snapped before Moss could protest. "You're wounded so it's either got to be me or Griffin. And I don't trust Griffin: he'd probably and accidently blow himself up."

"It's true, I probably would!" Griffin cheered.

Moss sighed. "Fine. Give me your SAW, I'll cover. And drop your backpack and that SRAAW, so you won't be so encumbered."

Slapping a fresh magazine in, Norén handed her machine gun over before dropping her spare equipment. "Just make sure you get Rover-2 to lift their fire before I run out. UNSC couldn't kill me in ten years of fighting, damn if I get shot in the back now wearing one of your uniforms."

"Pip, get ready," Moss said, slinging the SRAAW over his shoulder in preparation to move out. "Norén's about to run across the street and toss a satchel charge into that building. Get ready to cover her, break. 2, 3-2 Alpha. In about five seconds, I'm going to need you to lift your fire, we've got friendlies about to the cross the street. You copy?"

" _Copy! We're set!"_

"Griffin, get ready. Norén, on my command."

Moss took a deep breath. "Rover-2, cease fire! Alpha team, COVERING FIRE!"

He stood up and pulled the trigger, opening up on the Covenant just at the same time Rover-2 lifted their fire. Intent as they were on exchanging gunfire with Rover-2 down the street, the Covenant were completely caught by surprise to suddenly be receiving gunfire from an entirely different direction. As such, Moss was able to get a lucky headshot on one of the Grunt's manning the plasma turrets with his first burst, and sent the rest of the Covenant scrambling for cover.

"Griffin, start talking the machine guns(4)! Norén, go!"

"The fuck does that mean?" Griffin demanded as Norén scrambled over the truck and into the street, satchel charge in her right hand.

"Fuck," Moss swore, having forgotten Griffin never received any automatic rifleman's training. "Never mind, just keep shooting!"

Moss continued to pour machine gun fire onto the Covenant position, doing his best to make sure he didn't accidently shoot Norén. His bullets impact the Covenant supply crates, punching fresh holes into the sides and tearing chunks of metal off the edges. A Grunt tried to stand up and return fire, but one of Moss' rounds skimmed along the top of the crate and slammed into the Grunt's neck, roughly correspondent to where the external jugular vein would be on a human. High pressured blood began squirting out of the hole, decorating the surrounding area with a thick, teal colored liquid, and the Grunt toppled out of sight. One of the Jackals attempted to jump on the unmanned turret, but Poblede planted a 40mm grenade at the base of the turret, blowing it and the Jackal to hell. That threat eliminated for the moment, Moss turned his attention to the AA turret. The turret was slowly turning in his direction and Moss hastily fired on it, hoping to hit something vital. He must have because suddenly, a flurry of violent blue sparks erupted from the side and the turret stopped turning.

"Keep suppressing Griffin!" Moss yelled. Spotting movement between the craters, Moss fired an extended burst there, hoping to get lucky again, but there was no indication he hit anything. Abruptly, Griffin's gun ceased shooting.

"I'm out. Reloading!"

"God dammit!" Moss blurted out as his SAW fell silent at the same time. Dropping the M739 to the ground, Moss pulled out his assault rifle and continued to plink away at Covenant positions with that. Griffin's weapon came back to life.

"Back up!"

Tossing his rifle back onto his back, Moss picked up the SAW and frantically reloaded. As he slammed a fresh mag in place, he peeked over at Norén to check on her progress. She had already made it three quarters of the way across the intersection and as Moss watched, she activated the pull igniter.

"Griffin, GET DOWN!" Moss screamed as Norén tossed the smoking satchel charge over the Covenant barrier.

Norén scrambled for cover behind a nearby car. Meanwhile, Moss had hesitated in finding safety for himself in order to make sure Norén was clear. As such, he was able to spot the Skirmisher, rising up with the satchel in hand, ready to toss it away. Shouldering the SAW, Moss hastily emptied his mag into him. Even from this distance, Moss could hear the Skirmisher's bellowing of rage and pain as Moss blew his hand off, and both the satchel and the hand still holding onto it dropped back to the ground. Then the Skirmisher disappeared behind a wave of smoke and dirt as the bomb exploded.

"Holy shit!" Moss yelped as the face of the building simply disintegrated. Chunks of masonry and sheet metal were hurtled in all directions, and he was forced to dive for the ground as one of the plasma turrets hurtled straight at him, slamming into the truck and nearly cutting it in half. Moss could hear the AA turret come crashing down to the ground, and a cloud of dust permeated across the street.

"Griffin!" Moss yelled through a mouth full of dust. "Get up! We got to move! We got to take that warehouse!"

Hurtled himself over the remains of the truck, Moss quickly advanced across the street, reloading as he moved. "Pip, Roer, crossing the street now, cover!" he ordered, even though he knew with the smoke and dust, sight lines would be limited.

Shouldering the SAW, Moss scanned the area around him. There was a clatter of metal on pavement from somewhere in front of him and he quickly dropped to one knee, winced as the movement jarred his wounded foot. He ignored the sensation as a figure emerged from the smoke. His IFF tracker registered a friendly as, at the same time, the figured bellowed, "Don't shoot, its Norén!"

Moss mutely sighed in relief, climbing back up to his feet.

"Fall in Specialist," he barked as she fully emerged, covered in soot and concrete dust, but looking no worse for wear. "We got to hit that warehouse and mop up any survivors before they recover from their shock."

He waited for her to grab his assault rifle off his back before continuing to advance. As they approached the ruins of the warehouse, another figure emerged from the dust and for a moment, Moss hesitated to open fire, as the silhouette looked human enough to cause Moss some confusion. He quickly realized him mistake when the familiar electric blue glow of an active plasma grenade revealed the shattered face of a Covenant Grunt. Moss swiftly bought his SAW to bear but before he could react, two gunshots from a DMR rang out, and the Grunt collapsed back into the rumble. Moss ducked as the plasma grenade exploded, showering him with more debris, but he quickly recovered, bounding over to the warehouse to make sure everyone was dead.

The entire corner of the warehouse and then some had collapsed. Moss could see the top half of the AA turret sticking out from the rubble, completely bent out of shape, the occasional spark shooting into the air. Around it, various Covenant body parts could be seen and Moss methodically pumped a round into each one, just to make everyone was dead. He peered further into the warehouse to check for any more movement, but he couldn't see anything. He was reluctant to actually go inside to do a more thorough search though as the roof of the warehouse was making some alarming noises.

"2, 3-2 Alpha. Covenant strongpoint eliminated, over," Moss concluded.

" _Copy that! We're advancing!"_

Further down the street to his right, Moss could hear the shriek of metal tracks on asphalt, and he could feel the rumble of a heavy Grizzly tank moving up the road.

"Pip, Roer, get back down here but stay on that side of the road. Rover-2 is moving up and we're going to join them."

There was a loud _BANG_ of a door slamming open from down the street on Moss' left.

"Hey. Hey! We got bad guys!" Griffin warned before opening fire.

Moss dropped to the ground and wheeled in the direction of the targets. Half a dozen Grunts and a couple of Jackals were pouring out of another warehouse and were fleeing down the street in the direction of the LZ.

"Covies are falling back!" Moss hoarsely yelled out. "Don't let them get away!"

Griffin let out a mad cackle. "Look at the fuckers run!"

"2, this 3-2 Alpha, I've got enemy foot mobiles falling back to the LZ." Moss lower his radio and fired a burst at them. "We're engaging, over."

"Sergeant, I'm out of ammo! I need another mag!" Norén called out.

"Here, take this thing back!" Moss yelled back, tossing the SAW in her direction.

The rumbling grew in intensity until there was a loud roar as a Grizzly tank plowed over the rubble pile behind them. Without pausing or even taking into consideration Moss' position near their main cannons, the tank opened up with both barrels, firing a couple canister rounds and spraying the street down with several thousand tungsten pellets the size of ping pong balls. Moss ducked his head as he was buffeted by the muzzle blast from said cannons, the muzzle break doing an excellent job of diverting some of that energy to the sides instead of directly forward and back.

"Thanks a lot you jackass," Moss spat out, his lungs full of dust picked up by the blast, and never more glad of his earing protection than ever. "Just what I fucking needed."

The tank pushed on, unconcerned. Jogging behind it came what remained of Rover-2, now consisting of six soldiers, a rather alarming number considering Moss was pretty sure they had started off with around thirty.

Lieutenant Yilmaz came running up to him. "Good work Sergeant," she panted, her eyes wide with shock. "We got them on the run!"

Moss stared at her, barely recognizing her. She was covered from head to toe in dirt and grime and somewhere along the line, she had lost her helmet and safety glasses. Fresh blood stained her uniform, the red color standing in vivid contrast to the gray dust she was coated in, though Moss couldn't tell if the blood was hers or someone else's, as she didn't have any wounds that Moss could see. She had a dazed look on her face and she seemed a bit unsteady on her feet, almost like she was drunk.

"Ma'am, are you hit?" Moss asked her. "Maybe you should sit down."

She vigorously shook her head. "No can do Sergeant! We got to catch those guys before they make it back to the LZ!" She hefted her SMG. "Let's go guys! Up and at them!"

She started to run in the wake of the tank but Moss quickly seized her arm. "Hang on ma'am, having you been leading your men straight down the street?"

"Yes! Why?"

Moss shook his head. "Urban Warfare 101 ma'am: stay out of the open as much as possible, which includes the streets!"

"It doesn't matter now! Enemy troops out in the open! We got to go, now!"

"Lieutenant, wait... ah shit!" Moss swore as Yilmaz broke away and charged after the tank, her men limping along in her wake.

" _What are we doing Moss?"_ Poblede asked over the radio.

"Stay close to the buildings and move doorway to doorway," Moss barked. "We can't let these militiamen advance by themselves, we got to cover their backs. Watch your corners and maintain your spacing. Move!"

Moss began running after Yilmaz and her men. "Rover-2 to all Rover call signs. We have crossed over Phase Line Pyrenees and are advancing down ASR Elbe towards LZ Echo," Moss reported over general coms. "I have up, one victor and eleven, I say again, eleven packs. How copy, over?"

" _This Rover-1 Actual,"_ Menteith replied. _"I copy your traffic. We are advancing parallel to your location."_

" _This is Rover-3. We are beginning our assault on LZ Echo. We'll draw some of their fire off you."_

"Copy! 2 out!"

Moss turned away from his radio and quickly reloaded as he ran, but he could tell he wasn't going to need it. By the looks of it, the Covenant had ordered a general withdraw of all their forces to the LZ as the Covenant were hauling ass, not even bothering to set up a rear guard. Unfortunately for them, Grizzly tanks, and armored vehicles just in general, were designed with this rapid, mobile warfare in mind. Judging by the sounds coming from up ahead, the Grizzly tank crew was enjoying the chance to shoot at targets out in the open. They were laying down copious amounts of gunfire and anything that didn't get hit or was too slow to move out of the way, they ran over. Moss was just glad he was running along the shadow of the buildings as that meant he was able to avoid stepping in the bloody pancakes that used to be Grunts.

They were finally able to catch up to the tank when it reached the end of the block, where squat warehouses gave way to the open air train yard. On the other of the tracks, Moss could see the train station, badly damaged by the repeated rocket strikes Menteith had been calling on it, but still standing. Covenant soldiers were manning plasma turret placed at the windows on the upper floors, but at the moment they were exchanging fire with Rabinowitz and 3rd Platoon. In front of the train station building, on the tracks themselves, Moss could see an assorted mix of Covenant infantry taking cover on and around the abandoned locomotives.

The tank grounded to a halt at the mouth of the intersection, allowing Moss and team to finally catch up with Yilmaz. Her platoon had opted to take cover in the relative safety behind the tank, but not Yilmaz. Instead, she stood out in the open, waving her men forward.

"Come on!" she was saying. "Keep moving!"

Moss darted out from the shadows of the building and grabbed her, yanking her behind the tank as she started to draw fire.

"Lieutenant, are you crazy!" Moss started but then stopped when he spotted the fresh blood trickling down her left temple. Looking closer, Moss was able to identify the source, a deep gash on the left side of her head he hadn't noticed before because of her thick hair.

"Ma'am, you're hit, you're bleeding," Moss reported in alarm. "Why don't you sit down and we'll get it checked out."

She shook her head, which caused her to sway unsteadily on her feet. "Can't! Need to… need to…"

Without warning, she collapsed. Moss was just barely able to react in time to catch her before she hit the ground.

"Shit. Roer, man down!" he screamed into his mic.

Roer immediately came sprinting over. "What happened?"

"She got hit in the head! I just noticed it! I don't know how long she has been bleeding, or if she's been hit anywhere else, but I think she's also got a concussion!"

Roer swore and began frantically digging through his bag. Meanwhile, Moss gestured for his team to rejoin him before looking out over the train yard. The Covenant were quickly getting re-organized and Moss knew he had to attack, now, while he still had the initiative. He ducked back down.

"Roer, I need to take this attack head on. Can you get a handle on this?"

"I think so but I might need some help!"

Moss randomly pointed at two of Yilmaz's men. "You and you, stay here. The rest of you, with me!"

Moss reached for his radio, but then realize he wasn't sure what the tank's call sign was. He looked at the tank, as if it would be inscribed on the side, but then noticed a telephone box mounted at the rear of the tank. Hoping it would allow him to connect directly with the crew, he popped open the box and grabbed the receiver.

"Hey, this the tank crew?" he asked, feeling a bit foolish but he had to know.

" _Yeah. You our infantry support? What do you need?"_

"We need to start clearing this yard. I need you guys to smoke out the intersection, then start suppressing that station. But keep your gunfire high; I'm going to take my guys and flush out the Covenant, copy?"

" _We're on it!"_

Slamming the receiver back in place, Moss turned to his assembled men. "We need to clear this area of Covenant infantry. We'll form a battle line and try to force the Covenant back to the station so we can take them out with indirect. Norén, Griffin, I want one machine gun at either end to anchor us down, with me in the center. Maintain five meter spacing between each man. Go."

Moss darted out from behind the tank as smoke canisters were launched out into the street. He ran through the smoke, trusting his team to follow him, until he physically collided with the concrete barrier wall that separated the train tracks from the road. There was a chain link fence sitting on top, but a short length of detcord blew a hole in large enough for everyone to climb through. Once on the other side, Moss directed everyone to spread out until they had formed a roughly line before yelling out, "Marching fire! Advance!"

Leveling his rifle, Moss open fired on the area in front of him while at the same time, began marching forward at a steady pace. He wasn't shooting at anything in particular, though he did concentrate his fire on places where he thought the Covenant might be hiding; the point of marching fire was less about actually hitting the enemy, but keeping the enemy pinned down until the distance could be bridged thus forcing the enemy to choose between engaging in a close quarters fight, or getting shot in the back as they retreated. Given the Covenant's preference for close quarters combat, marching fire wasn't exactly a popular UNSC tactic however, given what Moss had seen so far, he was willing to bet it would work this time. And he was quickly proven to be correct with his assessment; already he could see a number of Grunts beginning to retreat.

But not all of them did.

Moss paused to reload and as he did, two Grunts popped out from behind one of the train cars in front of him.

"Oh crap!" Moss yelped, reflexively firing his grenade launcher at one of them. The Grunt was far too close for the 40mm HEDP grenade to have armed itself, so it didn't explode, but the grenade body itself still hit the Grunt in the chest with enough force to knock him off his feet, tripping up the other Grunt. Moss was able to finish reloading just as the Grunt recovered. Leveling their respective weapons at each other, both Moss and the Grunt open fired at the same.

Perhaps it was the stress. Or maybe it was the exhaustion. It could have even been all the concussive forces from all the danger close explosions Moss had been exposed to. But for whatever reason, despite both of them standing out in the open within twenty meters away from each other, both Moss and the Grunt completely managed to miss each other. Moss' burst somehow flew a good meter over other the Grunt's head while the Grunt's plasma bolt splashed harmlessly in the ground somewhere behind Moss.

Taking a bit more care aim this time, Moss and the Grunt fired again and again, both missed. With his stress levels rising exponentially, Moss could feel his body begin to tremble, but he figured the alien species infamously known for their skittishness had to be worse. So, he decide to crank it up to eleven to see who would blink first. This time, as he fired his rifle, he began marching forward, closing the distance between the two.

They continued to exchange fire and continued to miss. It was weird; it was almost like there was a force field over both of that that caused their rounds to curve around them. Whatever it was, the longer the firefight lasted and the closer Moss got, the higher the tension became. Sweat was pouring out of all of his pores. His hands were shaking uncontrollably, disrupting his aim even further. His heart was racing so quickly, he was afraid it was going to jump out from his chest, and the sound of blood rushing through his ears drowned out all other noises. But as bad as Moss was, the Grunt was taking it even worse. Part of the reason why the Grunt kept missing was because half the time, the Grunt wasn't even looking at Moss. Instead, he kept looking around him, either for help or for an escape route.

Finally, when Moss was barely seven meters away, it happened. He could almost hear the Grunt's nerves snapping, and he unexpectedly screamed, hurtled his plasma pistol at Moss, and took off running in the direction of the station. Dodging the weapon, Moss dropped to one knee, shouldered his rifle, and first a single shot into the back of the Grunt's head. He could feel his bolt locking back as the Grunt fell.

Feeling like a weight had just been lifted off his shoulders, Moss quickly reloaded, then methodically put another round into the Grunt he just killed, as well as the Grunt he had hit with his grenade launcher, just to make sure they were both down for the count. Finally, he took the chance to assess the situation. The reminder of the Covenant were running back to the station, having done little to no damage, which Moss attributed to the fact they had been fight against Jackals and Grunt only; if it had been Elites or Skirmishers, they would have stood their ground and wreaked bloody havoc on the advancing line.

" _All Rover units, hold position,"_ Menteith ordered over general coms. " _Vulcan 1-9, fire for effect on target: Verdun. All Havoc victors, erase the building."_

Moss crouched behind one of the train cars as all tanks began firing shell after shell into the train station. Despite this, the building held fast, up until a barrage of 227mm rockets slammed into it, causing the building to collapse.

Moss let out a sigh and allowed himself to slump the ground. He was wiped and the only thing he wanted to do was curl up into a ball and sleep for a week. He must have passed out for a few seconds because next thing he knew, a soldier from the 53rd was shaking him awake.

"Hey Sergeant," the woman was gently saying. "We're here to relieve you. Colonel Menteith wanted me to inform you, you are free to return to your unit, but he wants to talk to you before you leave."

With a mute groan, Moss climbed to his feet. "Alright, thanks."

She nodded and walked away.

"Sappers, assemble on me," Moss ordered over TEAMCOM, and began heading towards where he last saw Menteith. As he walked over, he heard Roer come running up.

"You good Roer?" Moss asked. "How's Lieutenant Yilmaz?"

Roer shrugged. "Alive, last I saw her. The 53rd guys had an actual doctor so he took over from me."

Moss nodded and fell silent.

They found Menteith nearby, surrounding by Takala and two radio operators.

"Blizzard 6-1, Rover Actual. LZ Echo is secured," he was saying. "We will be marking the LZ with red flares. Send in the birds, out." Moss waited patiently as Menteith handed the handset back to the radio operator and turned to Takala. "Get on the horn and tell Havocs 1, 2, and 3 to hook up their tanks to these train cars and start moving them out of the way." Turning to the last radio operator, he ordered, "Rogers, find out how far away those civilians are." Finally, Menteith happen to glance in Moss' direction.

"Sergeant Shen!" he exclaiming, giving Moss and his team a warm smile. "Excellent! I just wanted to personally thank you for your help in securing the LZ. You have done a great service and all of you deserve a commendation. Well done. Please inform Major Volkov is free to depart for his mission with my compliments as soon as he marks the edge of the LZ with flares. Thank you."

He extended his hand and Moss quickly shook it. "Thank you sir. And, good luck."

"You too Sergeant."

They cut across the train tracks, where the Grizzly tanks were busy hauling the flatbed train cars out of the way in order to make room for the Pelicans to land. As they approached the area they were supposed to meet the rest of the platoon, they heard a voice call out, "Well, look who decided to finally join us! The fucking combat engineers!"

Moss jerked his head and saw Xanthus, Demirci, and Oshiro, with an armful of flares, securing them at the mouth of the intersection, marking the border of the LZ.

"What were you guys doing?" Demirci continued in a jeering tone. "Taking a fucking nap? We're on the clock you know."

"Fuck off," Roer snapped back.

"Oh look, the rookie has got some teeth. How cute."

Moss ignored the insults. Instead, he turned to Xanthus and asked, "Hey Sergeant. Where's Captain Rabinowitz and Volkov?"

Xanthus jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Somewhere back there, interrogating those two militiamen, trying to figure out where to go next."

"Ah," Moss commented. "How was the assault? Take any casualties?"

Xanthus shook his head. "It was pretty simple actually. Minimal resistance and what resistance we did see was just against small teams of Grunts and Jackals, which the Grizzlies handled pretty easily." He suddenly frowned. "No Elites though, which was unusual."

Moss cocked his head. "Yeah, now that you mention it," he agreed after a moment of thought. "We didn't see any either." He exchanged a look with Xanthus. "That means something, right?"

"I think so. That's… is that a notebook?"

Moss turned to see what Xanthus was staring at. Griffin was busy pouring through a small notebook he had pulled out of his pocket. The sight was unusual because, first off, Griffin didn't seem to be the type to carry a notebook and second, it wasn't a digital notebook but an actual, physical notebook made of paper.

"Griffin, where the hell did you get that thing?" Moss asked, astonished. In this day and age, paper was rather rare. "The fucking museum?"

"Yes," Griffin bluntly replied.

"Oh," Moss dumbly said. Then he realized what Griffin meant. "You stole that from the museum!?"

"What? We blew up the place. It's not like anyone's going to know it's gone. Besides, I figure, good place to keep notes."

"Don't lie Griffin, we know you can't read or write," Poblede sleepily muttered.

"Fuck you, I can read," Griffin retorted, somewhat defensively. "Nah, it's just… hey Sarge, weren't we suppose to see Hunters?"

In that moment, Moss swore he could felt his heart stop beating.

"oh crap."

"HUNTERS!" Demirci screamed.

Moss whirled around to see two Hunters, about a dozen Elites and Skirmishers, and twice as many Grunts charging down the very same route they had taken to reach the train yard only moments ago.

"Son of a bitch! COVER!" Xanthus screamed.

Moss immediately dropped to his belly, trying to make himself as small of a target as possible. "God fucking dammit!" he screamed as he frantically reloaded his weapons. "No wonder we didn't see any fucking Elites, they were taking the Hunters on a wide flanking run to hit us from the rear!"

" _Rover-3 to all Rover units, we have Hunters pushing up ASR Somme right now!"_ Rabinowitz was yelling over the radio. _"I count a dozen Elites and Jackals plus just as many Grunts! I need backup, now! Break, break! Havoc-3, disengage from those train cars and turn around,_ _ **now**_ _! Rover-3, ENGAGE!"_

Moss pulled the trigger.

Hundreds of bullets struck the two Hunters simultaneously, throwing sparks in all directions and creating one hell of a light show, but all the Hunters did was raise their shields, tuck their heads down, and charge straight down the street, like an entire phalanx of hoplite warriors rushing headlong at the enemy.

Moss pumped round after round into the Hunters, only to realize the futility of that effort and began focusing on the smaller aliens. But unlike the defeated soldiers they had faced moments ago, the ones charging them now were both very well lead and well trained. The Grunts charged after the Hunters, using them as a shield while they fired their plasma pistols around them, laying down huge amounts of covering fire. Meanwhile, the Elites and Skirmishers had formed two groups, one on either side of the road, and were demonstrating a flawless fire and maneuver technique. While one group stuck to the shadows of the building, darting from cover to cover, the other group would lay down suppressing until their location became untenable, at which point the two groups would switch roles.

Moss targeted one of the Skirmishers advancing down the right side of the road and fired, managing to hit him in the leg with a lucky ricocheted. The Skirmisher collapsed but just as Moss could about to finish him off, an Elite Major stepped out in front to absorb the rounds, his personal shield providing a far more formidable barrier than the armor the Skirmisher was wearing. Moss fired a grenade at them but to his astonishment, the Elite sidestepped it.

"We got to slow down those Hunters until Havoc-3 can get into position!" Xanthus screamed. "Shen, Demirci! Hit those Hunters with the SRAAWs!"

Moss quickly clambered up to one knee. Ignoring the plasma fire that saturated the area around him, he ripped the SRAAW off his back. Planting the tube on his shoulder, he flicked the safety off. "Demirci, you hit the one on the right! I'll go left! ROCKET!"

 _WHOOMP!_

The muzzle blast from the SRAAW kicked up a massive dust cloud, instantly marking Moss as a priority target. Hurtling the empty tube to the side, he dove for the ground as he began taking concentrated fire, leaving him unable to return fire or even move. Given his position on the ground, the Covenant didn't really have an angle on him so he was able to avoid getting hit, but for the moment he was pretty much helpless, which was not a feeling Moss enjoyed. Still, unable to contain his curiosity, he threw all caution to the wind and lifted his head up high enough to see the effects of the rocket.

His target was still standing. The rocket had hit the Hunter's shield head on, destroying it, but leaving the Hunter unharmed. The other Hunter, on the other hand, Demirci evidently had gotten lucky and somehow avoided the shield. Orange goo was squirting out of a large hole in the Hunter's chest where the 110mm rocket had cut a hole through the armor. The Hunter was still alive, but it had stopped moving and was leaning heavily on its shield.

"Concentrate fire on that wounded Hunter!"

Doing his best to avoid incoming fire, Moss leveling his rifle to try and help out. He fired a couple times, but failed to connect to anything. As he reloaded, he began to feel a rumbling in the ground and he glanced behind him. He sighed in relief as he saw Shelia pulling up, who instantly began drawing all the incoming fire, allowing Moss to climb to his feet and move to a more secure location.

" _Cavalry's here!"_ Duvall announced.

"Havoc-3, hit that standing Hunter! We'll take out the wounded one, over!" Xanthus ordered.

" _Copy! Stand by, we're about to engage! Herat, load up SABOTs and target that Hunter on the left! We'll give him the double deuce! Fire when ready!"_

" **MY LIFE FOR THE PROPHETS**!"

"What the fuck?" Moss sputtered as a Covenant Grunt unexpectedly popped out of a nearby manhole. He barely had time to register the two plasma mines(5) the Grunt had strapped to his front and back, as well as the two active plasma grenades he was carrying in either hand, before he dove directly under Shelia.

 _ **KABOOOM!**_

Moss was completely knocked off his feet as a massive explosion ripped through Shelia's underbelly. The explosion was so strong, Moss could see Shelia getting lift into the air a few centimeters, before she came crashing back down. Staggering upright, Moss stared in shock as smoke and fire began rising out from the shell ejection port on the back of Shelia's turret.

There was a small _bang_ as the commander's swung open, and smoke began pouring out of the open hole. Moss could see Duvall, covered in soot and violently coughing, slowly pulling himself out of the tank. Then another noise filled the air, one that filled Moss with absolute dread.

 _POP! POP!_ _ **POP! POPPOPOPOPOP!**_

"Duvall! Your ammo's cooking off!" Moss screamed. "Get out of there! SHE'S GONNA BLOW!"

Duvall quickly pulled himself out. As he hauled himself out of the tank, Moss could see his legs were bleeding and bent in odd angles. Throwing himself off the top of Shelia, he hit the ground and began to frantically crawl away. Moss could tell he wasn't going to be able to get clear in time and he started to dart out to go and grab him, but a near miss from a plasma bolt caused him to change his mind. Moss could only stare in horror as Shelia let out one final _POP,_ before she erupted.

 _ **BOOOOOOMMMMM!**_

Shelia went off like a Shiva-class nuclear missile as her entire stock of 120mm shells, machine gun rounds, and fuel simultaneously detonated. Her turret was launched a good ten meters into the air like a Jack-in-the-box, and Moss could see Duvall, still trying to crawl away, get engulfed in the ensuing fireball.

"Man down!" Moss screamed, throwing all caution to the wind and running towards Duvall as soon as the fireball died down. "Medic!"

Sliding to a stop next to Duvall, Moss stared helplessly at the man. Despite his flame resistant coveralls, Duvall had been practically incinerated, with third and fourth degree burns all over his body.

"ROER!" Moss screamed. "ROER, GET YOUR ASS HERE, NOW!" He started to try and cut Duvall's uniform away, but Duvall let out a mute scream of pain. Roer came running up, skidding to stop next to Moss.

"Roer, what the fuck do we do?" Moss demanded to know. Roer grabbed his helmet and stared helplessly at Duvall.

"I have no fucking idea Sergeant," Roer blurted out. "I've never had to deal with burns this extensive!"

"Medic!" Moss yelled into his radio. "This is Rover 3-2, Havoc-3 Actual is down! I need a medic here!"

" _Rover-3 to all Rover units! Havoc-3 is down, I say again, I've lost my tank support! I've a got a Hunter and three dozen Covenant infantry closing in on my position, I need help, NOW!"_

"Hey! We're about thirty seconds from getting overrun! What do we do?" Poblede screamed.

"Just keep shooting!" Demirci yelled back. "Don't let up!"

"Not like this," Moss heard Xanthus mutter. "Not. Like. This."

Moss looked up. The Covenant were less than fifty meters away and closing fast. There was no way reinforcements would be able to reach them in time. Moss leveled his rifle.

 _ **BABOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMB! BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTT!WHIRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!**_

The wounded Hunter disintegrated as he was shredded by a barrage of autocannon fire. Some of the Covenant began screaming and pointing to the sky, and Moss looked up to see the slick form of a UNSC Air Force F-41 "Broadsword" fighters diving through the cloud cover, like an eagle about to pounce on its prey, it's internally mounted 35mm cannon blazing away.

"Hey check it!" Roer blurted out, pointing at the sky. "It's the god damn Air Force!"

Another Broadsword dropped out of the clouds and fired a Scorpion anti-tank missile at the unwounded Hunter, which exploded into ludicrous gibs. At that, the Covenant as a whole began retreating.

"Yeah!" Roer cheered. "Death from above! Get some flyboys!"

An unknown voice sounded over the radio. " _Rover-3, this is Omega Flight. Heard you boys could use a hand."_

" _Omega Flight, this is Rover-3 Actual. If you were on the ground right now, I would kiss you. You just saved our bacons."_

Omega Flight laughed. _"Save the kiss and buy us a case a beer, then we'll call it even. Hey, we'll mop things up here, you boys get washed up for supper. Your chariots are inbound. Better make it quick though; we've got a squadron of Banshees inbound and they are_ _ **pissed**_ _. This flight corridor ain't going to remain secured for long, over."_

" _Copy!"_

Above, Pelicans were dropping out from above the storm clouds and Moss slapped Roer on the shoulder.

"Break out the stretcher," Moss barked, throwing a thermal blanket over Duvall to stop him from shivering. "We got to get Duvall out of here ASAP or he's not going to make it."

"Right!"

Roer scrambled to remove the stretcher from his bag and together, they carefully lifted Duvall onto the stretcher and began sprinting for the LZ, reaching it just as the Pelicans began to land. Covering Duvall with his body, Moss waited until the Pelicans settled and sprinted for the nearest one. He was greeted by the two crew chiefs.

"Hey! This guy is hurt pretty bad! He needs a medivac!"

"Okay!" one of the chiefs said. "We got him!"

They took the stretcher from Moss and Roer and quickly loaded him onboard. Once he was secured, Moss grabbed his rifle and ran to the front of the Pelican in order to cover the area as civilians began flooding the LZ, quickly boarding the waiting Pelicans. Moss spotted Hoffman among them, running along with everyone else. He saw Hoffman look in his direction and give a jaunty wave, one that Moss returned. He watched as Hoffman disappear into the belly of one of the Pelicans before turning away.

" _Colonel!"_ one of the crew chiefs yelled out over general coms as the last of the civilians boarded. _"Colonel! Get your men aboard! We have to leave, right now!"_

Moss turned to see Menteith had assembled all his remaining men and tanks on the other side of the LZ. Even from this distance, Moss could see the look of determination on his face.

" _No, that's alright,_ " Moss heard Menteith reply. " _We're going to stay. I'm in the mood to cause some trouble for these Covenant sons of bitches. And, with any luck, we'll draw some patrols away from your path Major Volkov. Blizzard 6-1, get those civilians to safety. That's all that matters at this point."_

" _Copy that. Good luck Colonel."_

" _You too. This is Rover Actual, signing off."_

Moss ducked his head as the Pelicans revved their engines. As the dropships began taking off, one by one, he happened to glance back at the Pelican Duvall had boarded. To his surprise, he saw Lieutenants Felix and Dotse, the same two pilots that had brought Moss and his team down to the surface in the first place, sitting behind the controls in the cockpit. Moss automatically raised his hand in greeting. He wasn't sure if they recognized him covered in dirt and grime as he was, but then he saw Dotse pointing, and then Felix grinned and snapped off a salute.

Tucking his head back down to protected his face, Moss waited until the last of the Pelicans had taken off before standing upright, and he watched as they rapidly ascended into the sky before they disappeared behind the cloud cover. Despite knowing he had just helped saved the lives of hundreds of people, Moss felt no joy, no satisfaction. The civilians may have left, but he was still here. And he knew, somehow he just knew, things were going to get so much worse before the end of the day.

" _3 Charlie, assemble on me, we're moving out,_ " Volkov ordered over the radio.

Moss let out a sigh before keying in his mic. "Affirmative."

Throwing one last look at the spot where the Pelicans had last been, he shouldered his rifle before sprinting after his squad, rejoining them as they left the LZ.

They marched further into the city for parts unknown.

* * *

1\. The breaching grenade here is based off Ash's unique gadget, a character from the 2015 video game _Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six Siege_

2\. 11X is the US Army's military occupational specialty code given to recruits who sign up to be infantrymen

3\. 12B on the other hand, is the (current) MOS code for combat engineers.

4\. "Talking machine guns" is a technique where multiple machine guns alternate firing at a single target, with only one gun firing at any one time. The point is to save ammo while providing constant suppressing fire.

5\. Plasma mines first made an appearance in the RTS _Halo Wars 2_. There's not a lot of information about them on Halopedia, especially about their size, but I imagine they can't be that much bigger than a real-world anti-tank mine.


	8. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:** Before we begin, I want to give everyone some warning about this chapter: in this chapter, my focus is on wrapping up some of the subplots that I've raised in the story so far. As a result, the tone of this chapter jumps around a bit. I did my best to make the transition between scenes not so jarring, but honestly I'm not sure how well I succeeded.

Also, because of my focus on resolving these subplots, there is no action in this chapter (and honestly, Moss and rest of the cast could use a break.) Despite the lack of firefights, I do think people will find this chapter enjoyable, so I hope you will bear with me.

Again, thank you for all the views, favs, follows, and reviews. I'll be honest, when I first started this story, I was not expecting much interest, so the fact that people are reading and reviewing brings me great joy. Special thanks Broman777 for his review of the last chapter. Please go to the end of the chapter to see my response. tory, I was not expecting much interest, so the fact that people are reading and reviewing brings me great great joy. Special thanks Broman777 for his review of the last chapter. Please go to the end of the chapter to see my response.

* * *

 **Chapter 7  
**

 **Factory District, Byzas, Thracia Province, Actium  
** **May 6, 2545  
1843**

"MOSS, GET OUT THE WAY!"

Moss threw himself forward into a barrel roll. Meanwhile, he heard the Banshee come screaming in and plow through the road right behind him. He turned back to see the Banshee had dug a trench in the pavement roughly twenty meters long, two meters wide, and about a meter deep.

Moss scrambled to his feet and started to run back, but then a stray ASGM-10 air-to-air missile slammed into the ground, sticking out of the concrete like a dart sticking out of a board. It failed to explode, but the sight was enough to deter Moss from going anywhere but forward. He turned and dashed towards the relative safety of the building half the platoon was cowering in.

"3 Charlie Alpha, this Bravo," Moss said, panting heavily. "We're cut off, I say again, we are cut off, over."

Rabinowitz sighed. _"Not again. Alright, hold your position. We'll regroup one block down once the fighting has moved on, over."_

"Solid copy. Bravo, out."

Moss allowed himself to lean against the wall and slump to the ground. Undoing his chinstrap, he ripped his helmet off and wiped his brow, wishing he had some drinking water. The scream of jet and anti-gravity engines, missiles, autocannons, and explosions echoed over the skies of Byzas, like thunder and lightning during a storm. Whatever lull there had been within the last hour was clearly over as fighters from the Air Force, Navy, and Marine Corps battled against Covenant Banshees and Seraphs for dominance over the skies. The UNSC Air Force's demonstration of their ability to safely land and take off an entire squadron of Pelican dropships from the surface of this colony had evidently reminded the Covenant there was a war going on.

Normally, such a battle wouldn't concern Moss as there wasn't anything he could do to contribute. The problem was, the battle was taking place right over the city and unfortunately for everyone on the ground, gravity still existed on this world. That meant there was only one place for every single stray shot, piece of debris, and burning aircraft to go: straight down. It had been sporadically "raining" for the last half hour, with no sign of abatement, but Moss knew that wouldn't last forever. As fast as those aerospace craft were and as high as they went, there was no reason to believe the aerial battle would stay confined to the city's airspace. So in the meantime, it was just a matter of staying in cover until the "storm" passed.

Reluctantly, Moss forced himself to put his helmet back on and stand up. He couldn't afford to lower his guard. He might be tired as hell, but he knew the Covenant weren't. The last thing he wanted was to get killed now, not when he'd gotten so far.

"Well, we're cut off," Moss announced to the room. He glanced at the people who had managed to make it across the street before the crash. His team, naturally, but also the two militiamen and Volkov. "We're stuck here for a bit."

"Again," Volkov grumbled but Moss ignored him. He was way passed the point of caring about what Volkov said.

"We need to set up a perimeter," Moss announced, looking at his men to see who was available. The problem was, everyone was wiped. The non-stop fighting was getting to everyone. That much was obvious from the exhausted looks on their faces. Given that this was probably going to be the only chance they had to rest, Moss decided he didn't have it within him to make someone else stand guard while he rested, so he simply decided to do it himself. "I'll watch the front. You guys take a breather. Get some water, food if you got any, and, you know, smoke 'em if you got 'em."

Moss heard Poblede let out a loud sigh. "I'll help," she announced, climbing to her feet. Moss cocked an, eyebrow at her.

"You sure?" he asked, even though he knew it would be far easier to stay awake if someone was helping him stand guard.

"Yeah," she reluctantly said. "You need someone to help you stay awake," she continued, as if she read his mind.

"And so do I," she added.

Moss nodded, and moved to be closer to the door, finding a chair he could sit in so he could at least rest his wounded foot. He made sure he stood close enough to keep an eye on the road for enemy movement, but not too close he would risk getting hit by shrapnel. Poblede choose a spot directly across from him, both so she could keep an eye down the opposite end of the road, and so she could keep an eye on Moss to make sure he hadn't nodded off. After verifying his weapon was in condition one, Moss allowed himself to relax. For the next few minutes, aside from all the fighting taking place outside, there was complete silence.

After a few minutes, Moss got bored of watching the empty road, so he took a moment to glance over at the rest of his squad to see what they were doing. Volkov was busy typing away in his TACPAD, doing what Moss had no idea. Whatever it was, it was probably classified, so Moss didn't even bother asking.

Sitting nearby was Griffin, who was sound asleep, a stream of drool dripping out from his open mouth. The sight of Griffin sleeping away without a care in the world made Moss twinge with jealousy, but he quickly suppressed the feeling. He supposed he should just be glad Griffin wasn't a snorer.

Across from Griffin, Roer was sitting on an overturned box. Aside from the energy bar he was slowly chewing on, Roer was completely still, boring holes in the wall in front of him with his blank stare. Moss could tell he was deep in thought, and he wondered what had Roer so distracted. Moss was willing to bet it had something to do with Roer's still-missing family, and Moss felt his heart reach out to him, even though there was nothing Moss could about it now.

In contrast to the statue Roer had become, Norén was a bustle of energy. She had evidently decided now was a perfect time to clean her service weapon. Her MA37 assault rifle, which she had recovered from Oshiro soon after leaving the train yard, had been field stripped and was laying neatly in pieces on a rag on the ground in front of her. She had pulled out the cleaning kit that was including in the pistol grip of all UNSC issued weapons and was in the process of removing all the carbon buildup from the bolt carrier. Moss wished he could do the same, cringing as he imagined just how dirty the inside of his rifle must be at this point, after all the fighting they'd been through. Unfortunately, being on guard meant he couldn't afford to take apart his rifle as he was the first line of defense in the event of an attack.

Finally, there were the two militiamen, Chiotis and Dubois. They currently had their heads together and were having a whispered conversation with each other. What really caught Moss' interest though, was the nervous look on Chiotis' face, as well as the agitated hand gestures Dubois was making. Wondering what that was all about but, not knowing them well enough to feel comfortable asking, Moss turned his attention back to the road. Poblede shot him a questioning look, one that he returned with a shrug.

Moss had just turned away when suddenly, he heard Dubois whisper "I'm going to ask."

"No, don't," Chiotis whispered back, but it was too late.

"Specialist!" Dubois abruptly called out in a loud whisper, causing everyone to jump. "Hey, Specialist, I'm talking to you."

Roer jerked and turned to glare at them. "Wor-," he started to say through a mouthful of energy bar, but then quickly swallowed. "What?" he demanded once his mouth was cleared.

Dubois looked at him disgustedly. "Who the fuck are you? Wasn't talking to you asshole. No, I was talking to her."

Frowning at her hostile tone, Moss turned his head, enough that he could see that Dubois was pointing her finger right at Norén. Norén, for her part, had stopped what she was doing and was staring back at Dubois with a raised eyebrow. "Yes?"

"You're from Alluvion, right? You got to be, you're sporting their colors."

Out of the corner of his eye, Moss could see Norén adopt a neutral expression, but he also noted her eyes flickering down to her chest plate where, underneath all the dirt, she still had the Alluvion flag spray painted over her heart.

"Yeah," she replied, not bothering to deny it.

"You're also from the Yukon Region, right?" Dubois continued. "Yeah, I can tell from your accent."

Moss resisted the urge to throw his hands up in the air. How the fuck were people able to tell this shit?

Norén's expression became more guarded. "I am," she confirmed.

"That's the region where all the Separatist were from, wasn't it? What were you then, URF or ADF?"

At that, Moss became fully alert. He didn't know what sort of beef Dubois had against Innies, and he didn't care. He could not afford to have another argument like the one Roer and Norén had a week ago. Not now. Not while they were in the middle of Covenant occupied territory.

But before he could act, Norén spoke up. "ADF," she replied, sounding bored and disinterested, but Moss could see her tensing up. Her rifle was in pieces in front of her, but Moss noticed her putting a hand on the handle of her bayonet.

"Yeah? Then what do your comrades think of you wearing the enemy's uniform, you fucking traitor!"

That... was not quite the reaction Moss was expecting. Dubois' shout had gotten the attention of everyone in the room, and they were all staring at her with incredulous expressions on their faces. Even Griffin had woken up, and was looking from Norén to Dubois, and then back to Norén like he was watching a tennis match. Meanwhile, Chiotis had very obviously placed his rifle on his lap. His finger was hovering near the trigger, and Moss could clearly see the safety was off. It was clear what he was implying but given that there were only two of them and six UNSC soldiers, Chiotis would be a fool to try and start anything and, judging by the expression on his face, Chiotis knew that.

"Abby," he said in a warning tone. "This is not a good place to do this. We are surrounded."

Dubois snorted. "So what? What are they going to do, shoot us? Hardly. They need us to show them where their crash site is. No, what I want to know is who this fucking turncoat thinks she is. Her brother and sister-in-arms died fighting to gain independence from the UNSC yet here she sits, alive and well, wearing the enemy's uniform. And she dares put the Alluvion flag on it? What's that supposed to be, a sign of solidarity to assuage your guilt, you coward?"

"You are some kind of special stupid, aren't you?" Norén dryly noted. "What the fuck would you know about resisting the UNSC? You aren't a Separatist fighter, and you never were. You know how I know? No real Separatist would ever out themselves in front of an officer from Special Warfare Group Three." Norén jerked her head in Volkov's direction, who was watching the confrontation with mild interest. "If you're half as smart as you seem to think you are, then you know exact what sort of shit they were up to on Alluvion during the war."

At that, Chiotis paled and he quickly took his hand off his rifle. He tugged on Dubois sleeve but she ignored him.

"Oh, that makes sense, doesn't it?" she exclaimed. "You know what kind of murderer he is, yet you continue sitting here, taking orders from him!" She threw a disgusted look at Volkov, who smiled in amusement.

"I don't take orders from him, I take orders from him!" Norén snapped, pointing at Moss, who started. He wasn't expecting to be dragged into this argument, and he did his best to keep his attention on the road, to keep from having to say anything.

"Oh, well, that makes things so much better," Dubois was saying, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You're still taking orders from a uniformed soldier of the UNSC like a bitch!"

"Don't even think about lecturing me little girl while you sit there wearing the same damn uniform," Norén snarled.

"No, I wear the uniform of the Provincial Militia, not that of the UNSC!" Dubois snapped back.

At that, Moss stole a glance at her fatigues, and then the ones he was wearing. Maybe it was because they were all so dirty, but they all looked the same to him. Dubois must have realized that because she continued.

"What that means is, I take orders from the democratically elected government of Actium. Not some fascist, Nazi, goose-stepping military junta a billion light-years away!"

At that, Roer's head snapped up. "You better watch what you say, kid," he warned. "Otherwise you're going to regret it."

"Fuck you puppet," Dubois snapped. "You're part of the problem. A native of Actium, yet you sit there idly as the UNSC bleeds us dry; they're stealing all our resources, all our manpower and for what? So they can continue to brutally oppress other colonies? So they can drag us and billions of other people into wars they start?"

"You would know all about sitting idly, wouldn't you," Norén interjected. "You haven't done a damn thing to support the independence movement at all."

"I've done plenty. We both have," Dubois insisted, gesturing at Chiotis.

"Browsing pro-separatist movement forums on Waypoint doesn't count," Norén retorted. "Nor does trolling pro-government websites.

"Hey, we've done more than that! Why do you think we're here, we were stashing weapons!" Chiotis protested. Norén rolled her eyes.

"Big fucking deal. Have you ever used those weapons against the UNSC? Because I have. I fought against the UNSC for ten _years_. And I'm not just talking about taking potshots at a few patrols, or lobbing indirect around, I'm talking about open fucking warfare. I'm talking about battles like the Battle of Breanne's Creek, site of the largest tank battle in the history of Alluvion. The 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Battles for Greenwood which saw so much urban combat, people now associate that city with places like Stalingrad, Grozny, Fallujah, or Aleppo. Or Operation Farscape, which would see the liberation of the entire Dawson District, as well the complete annihilation of the 12th Rifle Division, and the surrender of the entire 106th Rifle Division of the UNSC Army. I've bled for the independence movement! I've been wounded twice, been blown up nine times, and I even spent time in a fucking UNSC concentration camp where I was put on ice for five fucking months because I kept trying to escape!"

"And it was all worth it too, you know why? Because it was working! We were this close to forcing the UNSC to the negotiation table! We were just about to convince them it would cost them more to keep fighting us then it would to just let us have independence. But then the fucking Covenant showed up, and ruined everything!" Norén abruptly hurtled her cleaning tool to the ground shot up to her feet, pacing agitatedly. "They fucking killed my friends, my family, my world, my cause! Everything I fought for! Everything I sacrificed for! All my hopes and dreams - gone! All I had left was glass and my **rage**!"

Norén glared at Dubois. "You want to give me shit for wearing this uniform. Well then, you tell me what was I supposed to do, huh? You tell me what **you** would have done! And until you've done all that, don't you **EVER,** call _me_ a traitor."

Moss watched in stunned silence as Norén threw one last death glare at Dubois before sitting back down. Picking up her tools again, she began viciously scrubbing down the bolt carrier of her rifle as the rest of the room awkwardly stared at each other. An uncomfortable silence descended on the room, until it was abruptly broken by Moss' radio.

" _Bravo, this is Alpha, come in."_

Moss tapped his headset. "Go for Bravo," he replied, glancing outside.

" _Bravo, it looks like the fighting has moved on, I think it's safe to continue. I've set up a navpoint; consolidate with me there. You copy, over?"_

Moss glanced at his HUD and noticed the navpoint hovering at the end of the block. "Copy Alpha. See you in a few. Bravo, out."

Turning away from his mic, Moss glanced at the rest of the room. "You guys finished?" Moss asked, glancing at Dubois and Chiotis. Neither of them bothered to respond, which he took for an affirmation. "Good. Pack up your shit cause, uh, we're moving out."

With some slight grumbling, his squad began picking themselves off the ground. Norén quickly began reassembling her rifle while Griffin scrubbed his face. Roer shoved the rest of his energy bar into his mouth and began chewing rather loudly, while Dubois and Chiotis gathered their equipment without looking at anyone.

"Wow," Poblede murmured as Moss gently put his foot on the ground, wincing slightly as his foot twinged. "What's up with everyone today and wanting to have screaming arguments with each other?"

"A high stress situation, like an alien invasion, has a tendency to bring the worst and the best out of people," Moss replied. "Plus, I'd also argue its Volkov's fault. He set the tone when he got into it with Colonel Menteith. When the CO starts acting in an unprofessional and childish way, people have a tendency to follow suit."

Poblede abruptly cleared her throat and Moss immediately glanced over his shoulder to see Volkov standing behind him. He knew Volkov couldn't have been standing there for long, at least, not long enough to have overheard him, but Moss nevertheless became on guard.

"There something you want to say to me, Sergeant?" Volkov quietly asked.

Moss caught the barest hint of a threat in Volkov's voice, and he quickly looked around for something to say. His eyes fell upon Norén and he quickly nodded in her direction. "Just a little surprised you didn't say anything about all that sir."

"It's been in my experience Sergeant, you don't interrupt your enemy when he's making a mistake," Volkov replied, matter-of-factly. "But don't worry; I'm going to remember this conversation."

Moss felt a shiver go down his spine and he quickly busied himself with gathering his equipment so he didn't have to worry about having to testify in front of a military tribunal in a few years.

They started to make their way towards the navpoint. Moss wanted to walk up to Norén and see if she was alright, having never seen her lose control like that, however Moss could tell she very much wanted to be left alone. He decided to have her take point. His hope was that being in front would both allow her to maintain her distance from everyone else, as well as give her something else to focus on. His only concern was that she would be too distracted to focus, which is why he placed himself second in the column to try and cover for her. At the very least, he would be keeping himself between Norén and the two militiamen, whom they still needed to show the way to the crash site.

Moving through the buildings, Moss glanced at the street. Fresh debris littered the roadway: shell casings, smoking anti-gravity pods, shrapnel from AAMs, and the occasional still-burning airframes, but for the most part, it was quiet. There was still the _boom_ of distant explosions, presumably coming from wherever the frontlines were now, but the heavy air to air combat that had dominated the skies not even fifteen minutes ago had clearly moved on.

They made it to the rally point without incident. Rabinowitz and the rest of the platoon were already there, waiting, and Moss winced at how pitiful Xanthus' squad looked. This mission was turning out to be extremely costly in terms of manpower; despite the addition of Oshiro and his team, Alpha squad only number six members now, versus the seventeen they had started off with.

"Which way?" Volkov asked, looking at Dubois.

"Give us a minute," Chiotis replied.

As the militiamen reoriented themselves, Rabinowitz walked over to Moss.

"Sergeant," he began. "How are your men doing?"

"Tired sir," Moss replied. "Frustrated. Irritated. And a bit hungry. We were told not to pack much in terms of provision so, we didn't."

"Yeah," Rabinowitz said, nodding his head, "we were told the same thing. Orders from Division. Wrong move I guess. Of course, I doubt Division could have predicted we would have ever been utilized in this fashion." He sighed. "Unfortunately, there isn't much I can do Sergeant. The only thing I can say is, tell your men just to hang on just a bit more. Our mission is almost complete; soon we'll be able to start making our way back to friendly positions."

"No offense sir but, how the heck can you tell? I have eyes sir," Moss explained, addressing the questioning look Rabinowitz that passed over his face. "I can see the way Volkov is acting around you sir, and I can tell that you know just about as much as we do in regards to the objectives of this mission; which is to say, you know nothing at all."

Rabinowitz removed his shooting glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're right Sergeant," he admitted. "I don't know how close we are to actually completing our objectives. Just… call it a hunch."

"With all due respect sir, my men are going to need something more substantial than a merge 'hunch,' even if you are the company commander."

Rabinowitz sighed. "You're just going to have to trust me Sergeant."

"I think it's this way," Chiotis abruptly said in a loud voice before Moss could say anything else.

"Captain!" Volkov barked, gesturing for Rabinowitz to join him. "Private, what do you mean you 'think' it's this way?"

"Exactly how it sounds," Dubois snapped. "We 'think' it's this way. It's a little hard to tell. Everything looks different when it's all been blown to bits. Sir," she added when Volkov glared at her.

Volkov studied a map on his TACPAD for a bit, before turning to Rabinowitz. "What do you think?"

"It's as good of a direction as any sir," Rabinowitz neutrally replied.

Volkov nodded, then switched off his TACPAD. "Fine," he said as he polarized his visor. "You," he said, pointing at Chiotis. "On point. The rest will follow. Captain! Move them out."

"Sir. Sergeant Xanthus, Sergeant Shen, round it up and move out."

They headed down the street. As Moss made his way in Poblede's wake, an alarm suddenly sounded in his ear, scaring the shit out of him and nearly causing him to fire his rifle out of reflex. Fortunately, Moss was able to stop himself before he could do anything stupid.

Not seeing anyone else reacting to the alarm, Moss casted around, looking for the source, before realizing the alarm was coming from his HUD: a proximity alert had gone off, warning him he was approaching a destination of interest. Disabling the alarm, Moss stared at the alert, trying to remember what it was that he had marked earlier that required a warning. Then it hit him: the bomb shelter that Roer's parents may have gone to. He subtly checked his TACPAD and, sure enough, the spot Hoffman had marked was coming up, perhaps a two block deviation from their current heading. He glanced over at Roer to see if he had noticed, only to see him staring at Moss with an expectant and hopeful look on his face.

Moss mentally sighed. The bunker wasn't too far away and besides, he owed it to Roer to at least have a look. Of course, the possibility of running into a Covenant patrol was high, and Moss wasn't willing to risk anyone else's life on a non-mission critical diversion, so it was just going to have to be Roer and Moss. The real question was, how was Moss and Roer going to slip away from the main group without alerting or alarming anyone? Moss supposed he could just ask Rabinowitz for permission, but Moss had a feeling if Captain Rabinowitz or Volkov knew what he wanted to do, they would quickly put a stop to it. Mainly because it was a dumb thing to do.

He was still thinking about that question when they reached the next intersection and Chiotis abruptly stopped walking. Distracted, Moss didn't realize the column had stopped and nearly walked right into Poblede, twisting away at the last second to avoid a collision. She stared at him with a questioning look on her face but Moss shook his head and gesturing for everyone to adopt defensive positions while he walked up to the front of the line to see what the holdup was.

"What's the holdup Sergeant?" Moss asked as he walked up to Xanthus. Xanthus shook his head.

"These guys are lost," Xanthus said bluntly.

"We're not lost," Chiotis protested. "We're just not sure where we are."

"What's the problem?" Rabinowitz asked, walking up.

"The problem is, we're trying to backtrack to a spot in a city we've never been in, several hours after the fact," Dubois explained. "Only, we're not following the exact route we took to get there, all the landmarks have either been shot up or blown up, and what's left has been covered in snow."

"I remember this intersection," Chiotis insisted. "Because the signage around here was so fucked up, we ended up going in circles for about an hour, and every time we kept ending up back here. All I know is, we went straight down one of these roads, but I don't remember which one."

Moss looked around. A grand total of five roads fed into the intersection.

"That's a lot of roads to check," Volkov noted. "We don't have time to check all of them. Narrow it down."

"Did you not listen a word I said?" Dubois snapped. "We're doing the best we can. Under the circumstances, any rational person would say we're doing a good job."

Volkov stared at her, his polarized visor betraying nothing. "Try harder."

It suddenly occurred to Moss that this was the best chance he and Roer would get to temporarily slip away to search for his parents. It wasn't ideal, and quite honestly, Moss would have preferred a different solution, but he couldn't let this opportunity pass. The further on they continued, the further away they got from the bunker.

"Sir, if I may make a suggestion?" Moss asked. "We could split up."

"What do you mean Sergeant?"

"Well, the way I see it sir, we know the satellite couldn't have landed down the route we just came down because we would have seen it," Moss pointed out. "Which leaves us four roads to check out. We hunker down most of the unit in that building while teams of two get sent down each road. I mean, Private Chiotis, you said that the crash site is just a straight shot down one of these roads from this intersection, right? About how many blocks away do you think?"

Chiotis glanced at Dubois and shrugged. "Maybe another four blocks?"

"Great. So, we send the two man teams down each road, tell them to look around for four blocks. One of the teams is bound to find it; this can't be a small crash site, right? So it's not like anyone's going to miss it. Once the site has been located, the team will radio it in and the rest of the unit will converge on that team's location."

Rabinowitz immediately shook his head. "I don't like it. That will require splitting the unit, which means if we run into a Covenant patrol, they'll be able to defeat us in detail. No, it is better we stick together. Strength in numbers and all that."

"Sir, will that due respect, with the numbers we have right now, we couldn't fight our way out of a wet paper bag," Moss pointed out. "At least this way, we can cover more ground in less time than it would take if the entire squad were to search each road as a whole. Plus, two man teams will have a far easier time evading Covenant patrols than a fifteen man squad." Rabinowitz still didn't look convinced so Moss added, "Plus, sir, the faster we complete this mission, the sooner we can get the fuck out of here."

"As much as I would love to leave this place Sergeant, I'm not convinced," Rabinowitz said. "I still think it's better if we all stick together."

"Fortunately, it's not your decision Captain," Volkov abruptly cut in. "It's mine. I like Sergeant Shen's idea; we'll do what he suggest. Four routes, right to left: call them Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, and Delta. Teams will be named after the routes they go down."

Moss quickly glanced at which road would take him closest to the bunker. Alpha.

"Sir, I'll take Specialist Roer down route Alpha," Moss volunteered before anyone else could speak up. He noticed Rabinowitz giving him a suspicious look but Moss ignored it. "Then I can have Corporal Poblede and Specialist Norén cover route Bravo."

"I can take Private Demirci down route Delta," Xanthus suggested. "Corporal Oshiro and Private Asoka can cover Charlie."

"And the rest will wait here," Volkov finished. "Let's not waste any more time Troopers. Get your teams ready and departed as soon as possible. Whoever finds the crash site first, mark it with a navigation point, announce it over the radio, and secure the area. The rest of the squad will follow. Stop dawdling; move it out."

Moss nodded in acknowledgement before glancing at Rabinowitz. "Sir?" he asked.

Rabinowitz nodded. "Move it out Sergeant," he confirmed.

"Yes sir."

Moss dashed back to his men and gestured for his team to gather around.

"What's going on Moss?" Poblede immediately asked as he slid to a stop.

"Okay, here's the deal. Militiamen say the crash site is down one of the four roads in front of us, but they're not sure which. So, we're dividing up into two man teams to scout each one." He activated his TACPAD to show them the roads, making sure to hide the location of the bomb shelter before he did. "I'll take Roer down route Alpha. Pip, you take Norén down Bravo. Xanthus and his guys will cover routes Charlie and Delta. Griffin, you wait here with everyone else. Intel indicates the crash site should be a straight shot down one of these roads, no more than four blocks away. If you find the crash site, mark it with a navpoint, inform everyone over the radio, and then wait there until the rest of the squad rallies on you. You see any Covenant, let everyone know, but don't engage, just evade. Any questions?"

Moss noticed Roer studying the map intently before a wide smile broke over his face, one that he quickly hid. Not quickly enough though, as Moss noted Poblede staring at him with a suspicious look on her face. A frown passed over her face.

"Moss, can I talk to you in private?" she asked.

Moss had a feeling he knew what was coming next and he was half-tempted to say no. But he knew as much as he felt like he owed Roer the chance to save his family, he definitely owed it to Poblede to at least listen to what she had to say. So he nodded and they moved across the street where they would have more privacy.

"What the fuck are you doing?" she demanded as soon as they were out of earshot. Moss didn't even have the energy to pretend he didn't know what she was talking about.

"Fulfilling a promise," Moss told her.

"You're not thinking this through Moss! What _are_ you doing?"

"We're just going to take a look," Moss said, trying to reassure her, but she shook her head.

"No, you're not," she insisted. "You're not thinking Moss! You're assuming they're not going to be there. But Moss, _what if they are?"_

"We'll just…" Moss trailed off as he realize he hadn't actually considered that possibility. At this point, he had given up all hope that they would find Roer's parents alive. He just wanted to go to the bunker so that Roer could stop hanging on the edge of uncertainty and start grieving. But if they were alive… Moss couldn't very well bring a bunch of civilians on the rest of this mission. And he couldn't send them back to friendly positions; they would never make it through the frontlines on their own. Evacuation was also out of the question; even if Moss had a direct line to the Air Force like Menteith did, the fighting in the sky meant there was no way for a Pelican to land safety.

"Kid is not going to leave his parents there Moss," Poblede warned.

Moss sighed. "I know. We'll just… we'll just have to cross that bridge when we get to it."

Poblede shook her head. "You know I got your back, no matter what. It's just… this is what I was trying to warn you about Moss."

"I know. Whatever happens from this point forward is on me."

"That's the problem," Poblede softly said. "It's not just you: this effects all of us."

Finding he couldn't think of anything to say in response to that, Moss tiredly rubbed his face. "Be care out there Pip," he finally said.

"You too."

Rejoining the team, Moss grabbed Roer and they started heading down their assigned route.

"Sergeant, there's something I want to say before we get too far," Roer began as soon as they were out of earshot. "I just want to thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for everything you're doing for my family. We're never going to forget this you know. If there's one thing the Roer family is good at, it's showing appreciation to our friends."

"In fact," Roer continued as they climbed over a small impact crater. "Don't be surprised if you get an invitation for Thanksgiving or Christmas this year from my mom. I don't know how or if you do celebrate either of those holidays, but if you should come over. No joke; my stepdad makes the best roasted turkey you've ever tasted. Like, seriously, he's won awards and shit. You see, the way he makes it is a family secret so I can't tell you what how he does it, but I'll give you hint: the key is marination. He's makes this sauce you see – "

"Specialist."

"Yes Sergeant?"

"Shut the fuck up."

"Yes Sergeant."

Roer fell silent as they made their way down the debris covered road and Moss frantically tried to think of a way out of this hole he had dug himself in. There had to be a solution he had overlooked; some way he would be able to keep his promise to Roer without putting the rest of the squad at risk. But Moss just couldn't think of anything. No matter how he looked at it, no matter which angle he approached it, Roer was going to be devastated. No matter what, Roer's trust in Moss was going to be irreversibly shattered forever. Because that's what this was: a betrayal. Moss had made Roer a promise he knew he wasn't going to be able to keep. And Roer? Roer had put his trust in his squad leader. He had pinned his hopes on his squad leader, the man whose orders he had followed without question, the man he expected to bring him out of this shitty situation alive. The man, who should have been honest with him.

Moss suddenly felt a surge of anger at himself and without thinking, he abruptly lashed out, kicking at a piece of metal with his wounded foot. The blow sent waves of pain shooting through his foot, causing him to reflexively grab it, which in turned, caused him to lose his balance and come crashing to the ground.

"Holy shit Sergeant!" Roer exclaimed, rushing over to pick Moss off the ground. Moss shoved him away, not wanted Roer's help. Not wanting Roer's kindness adding to his guilt. "Are you alright? That had to hurt. Let me give you some painkillers."

"I'm fine," Moss stated bluntly. He wasn't of course; the pain was devastating but all Moss could think about was how much he deserved it, which somehow made it less painful.

Roer looked at him skeptically. "You sure Sergeant?"

" **Yes,** " Moss hissed.

"Alright, no need to bite my head off Sergeant. At the very least, take this." Roer handed Moss a loaded autoinjector. "Just in case it starts to hurt later. It's easy to use: the computer will read your bioscans the moment you inject yourself and automatically give you the correct amount of medication you need. That way, you don't have to worry about overdosing yourself."

"Just keep moving Specialist," Moss ordered, taking the offered device and shoving it into his IFAK. "We're almost there."

Roer nodded and started back down the road, with Moss limping in his wake. In some ways, Moss was glad for the pain as it gave him something else to focus on. But still, it wasn't enough to fully drown out the anger he had for himself. Poblede was right: Moss shouldn't have allowed Roer to get his hopes up. He could have not been such a coward and allowed this charade to go so far. He would have handled thing differently.

But he didn't. And now he had to face the consequences.

"Come on Sergeant, it's just around this next corner!" Roer suddenly shouted, and then took off running.

"Roer, wait!" Moss yelped, but it was too late. Roer rounded the corner and disappeared from sight. "Shit."

Moving as fast as he could, Moss followed him. He rounded the corner and –

\- froze at the sight that greeted him.

In hindsight, Moss wasn't sure what he expected. A dozen rifles pointed in his direction? A bunch of civilians milling around, waiting for help? A smothering pile of corpses? Or, best case scenario, an empty bunker because they had already been successfully evacuated? Whatever the case was, Moss had not been expecting this: nothing. There was nothing but a giant hole in the ground filled with rubble where a building had once stood.

"What the fuck…" Moss muttered.

There was a clatter as Roer's rifle slipped out of his loose grip and fall to the ground. "no…" he whispered. "No no no no no."

"Roer, wait!" Moss hissed as Roer, in a daze, began stumbling towards the hole. Shoving him back, Moss shouldered his rifle and cautiously walked towards the rubble, scanning the surrounding area for traps or snipers. As he approached the destroyed bunker, he dropped to one knee to study the debris for clues.

Whatever had blown the bunker up had done a very effective job. Chunks of reinforced concrete the size of Warthogs were strewn all over the street and the surrounding buildings. The roof had collapsed upon itself, burying the entire structure. From what Moss could see, there was no way around the debris. If he had to guess, it would probably take weeks just for an entire company of Army construction engineers equipped with heavy lift equipment and "Cyclops" exoskeleton suits just to dig a hole through the rubble enough to see if there were any survivors.

"Weird," Moss muttered to himself, noting how a lot of the rebar had been forced upwards and outwards. "Looks like the blast originated from within the bunker itself. Bunker buster? Or maybe the Covenant got in and set a charge."

Grabbing a blacken piece of concrete off the ground, Moss sniffed it, but he couldn't smell the scent of ozone on it, which made him even more confused. Plasma weaponry always gave off the distinct smell of ozone, and the lack thereof seemed to imply whatever destroyed this bunker was human in origin. Could this bunker have been destroyed by accident? In a friendly fire incident? Or something more outrageous, like a suicide pact?

Whatever the case was, it was clear this bunker was a dead end. Literally.

Tossing the rock aside, Moss stood up and turned back to Roer, only to see him on his knees, his head bent down, his shoulders shaking.

"Roer," Moss whispered sympathetically. He walked over to him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Roer, I'm sorry," he began, only to realize Roer wasn't crying. He was laughing. "Roer?"

Roer lifted his head. He was laughing so hard, tears was streaming down his face. "I'm sorry Sergeant," Roer began, relief evident in his voice. "I'm sorry, I realize this probably isn't the most appropriate reaction, but I just realized how stupid I am. All this time, I thought my parents would have come here after picking up my sister. But they wouldn't have." At Moss' questioning look, Roer elaborated. "There's a bomb shelter in the basement of my sister's school! They would have had no reason to come here. They would have stayed where they were! Whatever took this bunker out, well, it wouldn't have affected them."

As Roer spoke, Moss felt his heart sink. He would have thought the sight of this destroyed bomb shelter would have been the end of it, but Roer was more optimistic than Moss had realized. Either that, or Roer was in compete denial and was looking for hope where they wasn't any. At any case, it was clear to Moss that Roer wasn't going to stop looking for his parents unless someone stopped him.

Wondering how he was going to word this, Moss activated his map to stall for time. "Where's the school," he asked. Roer quickly pointed it out and Moss took note of the location.

"Roer," he slowly began, "that's twenty blocks away."

"I know. But if we take off now, it shouldn't take us more than half an hour to get there."

"Roer…"

"I know it's a little out of the ways, but it shouldn't be that difficult to get to. Might even be able to steal a car. Hell, plenty of them laying around here."

"Specialist…"

"I know a car isn't exactly inconspicuous," Roer continued, as if Moss hadn't spoken at all. "But we're going to need some wheels if we're going to be able to make it to school, and then back in order to finish the mission. We don't want to miss our extraction, after all. Do you know how to hotwire a car? Because I don't. I had a friend who was willing to show me, but I never took him up on the offer because you know, I didn't think I would ever need to know but of course, now I do and –"

"Cliff!" Moss barked and Roer trailed off. "We can't."

Roer blankly stared at him. "What do you mean Sergeant?"

Moss sighed. Of course Roer was going to make this so much more difficult. "Roer, we can't go to that school. Twenty blocks? That's, that's well outside the mission area."

"I know," Roer slowly said. "That's why I think we should take a car."

"Roer, we **can't,"** Moss insisted.

"Why not?"

Moss resisted the urge to snap. "Roer, you know just as well as I did, this was the last chance we had to find your parents. If they weren't here, then **that was it**. There wasn't going to be another chance."

"But… but," Roer sputtered. "My parents aren't dead."

"Dead, alive, it doesn't matter! We're here, behind enemy lines, because we're on a mission Roer! We're not here to run personal errands!" Moss all but shouted. He knew he was being harsh but he just couldn't think of another way to break the news to Roer in a way that he would understand. And so, Moss squashed that feeling of guilt that was rising within and continued. "This has to end, here! We can't keep going on like this!"

For the first time since the beginning of this battle, Moss could see a look of uncertainty pass over Roer's face. "But… they're my family Sergeant."

"Roer. There comes a time when you have to make a choice. This mission that we're on, has the potential to save millions, if not billions, of innocent lives. And the truth of the matter is, your family, makes up a very, very, small percentage of those innocent lives. This job is all about saving lives. But you can't save everybody."

For a moment, Moss hesitated, but then realized, now that he started, he had no choice but to finish. "And today, your parents, your family, are going to have to be the ones we can't save. Because the cold hard truth is, the needs of the many, always outweigh the needs of a few."

He watched as Roer's expression close off, and the spark in his eyes fade away, leaving him guessing as to what Roer was thinking.

"You have to make a choice Roer. Do you sacrifice your family? Or the other, millions of families, waiting for help?" Moss stopped to look Roer directly in the eye. "Do you understand Soldier?"

Moss could see Roer's jaw trembling, but aside from that, he stared straight back at Moss with a dead expression on his face.

"Yes Sergeant," he finally said in a robotic tone. "I understand."

" _Delta Team to 3-Charlie. We found it._ "

Moss broke eye contact to see the navigation point floating in the distance. He keyed his microphone. "This is Alpha Team. Copy that. We're on the way."

He looked back at Roer, who had yet to move a muscle. "Specialist. We have to go."

Roer nodded ever so slightly.

"Get your rifle."

Methodically, Roer reached down and pick his rifle up. Moss stared at him, worried. Roer appeared to be in shock, and there was no telling what he would do next. Under normal circumstance, Moss would have disarmed him and immediately ordered him to be medically evacuated. Unfortunately, that just wasn't possible at this moment, so he carefully reached down and help Roer up to his feet. "Lead the way Specialist," he ordered, figuring he should walked behind Roer, if only to keep an eye on him.

Without saying a word or even making a noise, Roer took off jogging in the direction of the navpoint, Moss following close behind. Just before they rounded the corner, Moss glanced behind him, as if the bunker would magically be restored, but there was nothing. Only silence followed them as they made their way through the city.

They quickly made their way to the navigation point. As they had the furthest to travel, they were the last to arrive. As they approached the rest of the squad, Moss noticed Poblede looking at him and Roer with a questioning look on her face. Moss shook his head and a half-relieved, half-sympathetic look passed over her face. She didn't say anything though as Moss walked passed her to look at the crash site.

The entire intersection was covered in pockmarks and small craters, as if someone had taken a giant shotgun and shot the entire area a few times. Probably the result of pieces of the satellite breaking off and hitting the ground at high speeds though admittedly, a lot of it could also have been the result of the aerial battle that had taken place several minutes ago. The satellite itself had landed right in the middle of the intersection, leaving a sizable crater behind.

"This is it," Chiotis announced as Moss approached.

Moss could see Rabinowitz throwing him a skeptical look. "Are you sure Private?"

"This is it," Volkov abruptly announced.

"How can you be sure sir?" Rabinowitz asked.

"This is it," Volkov insisted. "Get to work." He walked away before Rabinowitz could say anything else.

An annoyed look passed over Rabinowitz's face and he tossed his hands up in the air in defeat. "Alright. Sergeant Shen, get to work. Are you going to need your entire squad to destroy this thing?"

Moss carefully peaked over the edge and down at the bottom of the crater. There wasn't much to see: a small amount of debris sitting in small puddle of muddy water. "I'll need two guys at most."

"Good. Take who you need and let me borrow the rest of your shooters. I'll need help securing the perimeter. Sergeant Xanthus, on me."

Moss walked back to his waiting squad. "Norén, you're with me. We're going in the hole; help me prep everything for demolition."

"Copy," Norén reported.

"Pip, I want you at the top, to hand us stuff down as necessary. Griffin and Roer, hand over your thermite grenades to Poblede and then report to Xanthus; you guys are on perimeter watch."

"Aww," Griffin complained, even as he complied. "I get the boring part."

Moss gathered up his equipment. "Let's go. The faster we finish this, the faster we can the fuck out of here."

He, Norén, and Poblede jogged over to the edge of the crater and Moss looked down, wondering how he was going to do this. The bottom was about five meters below ground, making the idea of jumping down a less than appealing idea. The best way would be to climb down as the crater walls weren't super steep, however they were coated in snow, ice, and mud, which would make it a haphazard climb. Fortunately, the satellite had destroyed plenty of underground infrastructure on the way down so there were a number of broken sewer lines, electrical conduits, and jagged piece of concrete sticking out from the walls to use for handholds.

Unsling his backpack, Moss handed it over to Poblede before handing his rifle over. He figured he wasn't going to need his weapons down in the hole and the less he had to carry, the easier it would be to climb down.

"We're going down into the hole," Moss announced. "When we get to the bottom, toss my bag down to us, will you?"

"Yep, will do," Poblede replied.

"And keep your head down. I know Xanthus has set up a perimeter guard, but you're kind of out in the open. Would hate for you to get shot now."

"You and me both."

Grunting, Moss carefully made his way down to the bottom of the hole, doing his best to the ignore the throb of pain that shot through his leg every time he put his wounded foot down. Progress was slow and by the time Moss made it to the bottom, he was coated in mud and who-knows-what else. At the bottom, Moss found himself standing in roughly five centimeters of muddy water, and suddenly he felt like he was back on Newsaka all over again. He wasn't sure what was worse; on one hand, there were no bugs. On the other hand, based on the smell, Moss was pretty sure he was standing in some raw sewage.

Sighing and mentally wondering how the hell he always managed to find himself in these situations, Moss turned away and waited for Norén to join him. Once she was on the ground, Moss whistled up to Poblede, who immediately toss his bag down to him.

"Let's get this over with," Moss said, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

Before he could go anywhere though, Norén grabbed him.

"You smell that?" she asked him.

"Yes Norén," Moss said irritably. "I know we're walking through raw sewage right now."

"No, not that. You don't smell the phosphate?"

Moss took a deep breath and immediately regretted it as his lungs were immediately filled with the foul smell of feces. "No," he gasped out, coughing.

"I'm telling you Sergeant, I smell it."

"And I believe you," Moss replied. "But so what? It's probably from one of these pipes." Moss patted the crater wall and immediately yelped in surprise.

"What is it?" Norén asked.

"This wall is hot," Moss said, staring at his hand and then the wall in puzzlement. He heard water sloshing and turned to see Norén moving to another area of the crater and touch the wall.

"Yeah, it's hot here too," she reported.

Moss frowned. He wasn't sure where the frost line was in this part of the world, but it didn't matter. He would have thought after the five or six hours this crater had been exposed to the air, the soil that made up these walls would have been as frozen as the dirt on the surface. In fact, now that he thought about it, shouldn't this puddle of water he was standing in be filled with ice?

He glanced around the crater, noticing the multitude of burn marks and melted infrastructure. He had noticed them when had first descended into the hole but he had initial attributed it to the heat from the impact. But now he wondered if it wasn't the result of something else.

"So," Moss began, thinking out loud. "You smell phosphate and these walls are still hot. What does that mean?"

"Something wrong Sergeant?"

Moss looked up to see Rabinowitz and Volkov, crouching next to Poblede, and staring straight down at them. Volkov had been the one to speak.

"Not sure sir," Moss replied. "But, I think someone tossed a couple of white phosphorous grenades down here within what," he glanced at Norén for confirmation, "the last hour or so?"

"What?" Rabinowitz turned to Volkov. "Major, do you have other teams looking for this place?"

Volkov shook his head. He had depolarized his helmet's visor, allowing Moss to see the look of confusion on his face, as well as… hope? Volkov quickly noticed Moss staring at him and his face hardened.

"It doesn't matter," Volkov announced. "We'll figure it out later. In the meantime, get back to work Sergeant."

"Sir."

Moss slogged to the center of the crater. Scattered around in the puddle were a number of half-melted pieces of metal, presumably the remains of the satellite. There weren't as many as Moss was expecting; unsurprising, given that the white phosphorous should have destroyed most of the remains. But, considering the amount of trouble they had getting here, Moss had to admit he was disappointed. It hardly seemed worth it now, all the fighting they had to go through.

"How do you want to do this?" Norén asked.

Moss sighed, almost wishing he had kept his entrenching tool. "Let's see what we're dealing with first," he said. Bending over, he began digging through the puddle and started pulling the pieces and throwing them into a pile.

They spent the next few minutes digging through the dirt, gathering all the pieces they could find. Finding one large chunk, Moss bent over and grabbed it with both hands. As he stood up though, the object in question abruptly split open, and another object came tumbling out. Moss stared at it for a few seconds before realizing what he was looking at: a badly burned skull.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Moss yelped, dropping the object in his hands and leaping back, colliding with Norén.

"What the hell? Are you alright Sergeant?" Rabinowitz called out.

"Yes sir," Moss replied as he untangled himself from Norén. "But there's a fucking body in here sir."

Volkov poked his head over the edge of the crater. "Bodies? How many?"

"Not sure sir," Moss said as he waited for his heart to slow down again. "I think it's just one. I don't know, we've only found a head."

In the meantime, Norén had walked over and picked up the head in question.

"This is not natural decay," Norén noted, studying the head in her hand. "Flesh has been burned off. Could have been the white phosphorus. But this skull shouldn't be this intact if that was the case."

"Well, he was wearing a helmet," Moss noted, picking up the pieces.

"Doesn't matter. White phosphorus burns at a little over 2700 degrees Celsius. At those temperatures, these bones would have chemically broken down, helmet or no helmet." She rubbed the skull with her thumb. "Feels like it's been grafted with something. Some sort of composite material that helps it have a higher melting point? What would the point of that be though?"

"I still think it could have been the helmet that saved the skull," Moss argued. "Look how thick it is." He stuck the two pieces together. The outer skin of the helmet had mostly melted away, but enough of it remained intact Moss could see the original green color and the still partially golden visor. "Cracked in half. Something had to have hit this thing at high velocities, yet be wide enough to disperse the energy so that it cracked the helmet instead of punching right through. Something like, shrapnel propelled by an explosion or…" Moss glanced upwards at the sky. "The ground. Wonder if this guy fell out of the sky or something."

"Would make sense," Norén agreed. "Never seen that model of helmet before. Looks like an advance version of the ODST helmet."

"Destroy it," Volkov suddenly ordered.

"Sir?" Moss asked.

"Someone went through a lot of trouble trying to destroy this body. Might as well help out."

Moss glanced at Norén. When did Volkov suddenly become so altruistic?

"You're in charge sir," Moss said simply, deciding it wasn't worth questioning. Volkov disappeared from sight, allowing Moss and Norén to return to work.

Moss continued to dig through the dirt, finding more and more partially destroy pieces of what looked like a full set of body armor. He wondered who this person was, what he was doing inside this crater, and why someone tried to destroy his body.

"Hey Sergeant, what does this look like to you?"

Moss turned around to see Norén picking up a piece of metal about the size of a dinner plate, only it was much thicker, and far heavier as Moss could see Norén straining under its weight.

"What the fuck is that, a piece of starship armor?"

"I think that's exactly what it is Sergeant," Norén said, letting the plate drop to the ground. "And check this out."

She reached down and rubbed a spot with her sleeve. After several moments of rubbing, the black soot covering the plate began to rub away, revealing purplish color, the same color as Covenant starships.

"I think this is a piece of Covenant starship armor," Norén announced.

Moss blinked in surprised. "That was at the bottom of everything else?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Maybe it was a piece of Covenant armor that knocked the satellite out of orbit?" Moss suggested.

"And somehow managed to land in the exact same hole as the satellite? Unlikely."

"Well, whatever it is, let's go ahead and burn it with everything else. Break out the thermite."

"So," Norén began as they worked. "What do you think we're really destroying Sergeant?"

"Come again?"

"Come on Sergeant, this is clearly not a satellite. Last time I checked, satellites don't carry people, they don't come crashing down to a planet riding on top of a piece of Covenant starship armor, and they don't burn themselves a few hours after crashing. No, this is something else entirely."

"Norén, I'm going to be completely honest. At this point, I don't really give a shit what we're destroying. Whoever and whatever this is, clearly Volkov wants it gone. So, let's hurry up and finish this so we can finally go home."

Norén was silent for a moment. "You still think we're going to make it home?" she finally asked.

"No," Moss admitted. "But I still have to pretend, if only for my own sanity."

They finished setting up the rest of the thermite in silence.

"Pip, we're done here," Moss announced. "Heading out."

"Copy. It's still clear up here."

Climbing back out of the hole, Moss retrieved his rifle from Poblede. "One of you, pop a grenade into this hole," Moss ordered. "Then let's get out of here."

Norén nodded before removing her last thermite grenade.

"Fire in the hole," she announced, priming the grenade and then tossing it into the hole.

 _PWSHHH!_

Moss was forced to turn away as everything at the bottom of the crater ignited in a blinding white flash. Flames and steam began shooting out of the hole as the superheat thermite caused to the water inside the hole to instantly boil away.

Moss ran back to where the rest of the unit was huddled in a nearby alleyway.

"Objective secured sir," he announced.

Rabinowitz nodded. "Good work Sergeant. Pack it up platoon, let's get out of here."

Chiotis cocked his head in confusion. "What, you guys don't want to know where the other two went?"

Moss froze.

Very slowly and deliberately, Rabinowitz turned towards them. "What other two," he asked.

Chiotis and Dubois exchanged glances. "The other two things that came out of that hole," Chiotis clarified.

"Are you two on drugs?" Xanthus demanded to know. "Comms satellites don't have the ability to walk anywhere."

"Comms satellite?" Dubois repeated, incredulously. "What the hell are you talking about? Do you even know what you're looking for?"

"Apparently not," Rabinowitz dryly replied. "So why don't you enlighten us?"

"That will do," Volkov suddenly snapped. "Not another work Private."

"Ah," Dubois gleefully noted. "It's not that you guys don't know, it's just the government tool has been lying to you. How shocking."

"Enough with the snide commentary," Rabinowitz snapped impatiently. "What exactly came out of that hole?"

"Private," Volkov said warningly, but Dubois ignored him.

"That wasn't a satellite," she began. "That was clearly a..."

 _PFT PFT_.

Moss jumped in surprise as Dubois and Chiotis collapsed, a single bullet hole in each of their heads. Shocked, he whirled around just in time to see Volkov lowering his still smoking sidearm.

"Son of a bitch," Norén started, but before she could do anything, Rabinowitz lurched forward with a look of shock on his face.

"Volkov... what the **hell** was that?" he demanded.

"An execution," Volkov bluntly replied. "These two Innies clearly had information they didn't have clearance for. Had to eliminate the leak."

"Information in regards to this mission!" Rabinowitz pointed out. "Information that we need but clearly don't have! Like what we're looking for!

"Captain, there is a lot about this mission you don't know simply because you don't _need_ to know. What we're looking for is not important. What is important is that this mission is absolutely critical to the survival of humanity as a whole. _That_ is all you need to know!"

"No, it doesn't work that way," Rabinowitz snapped. "You don't get to drag my men, **my men** , halfway through enemy controlled territory without at least telling us what we're looking for!"

"That is top-secret, need-to-know information only!" Volkov barked. "This is a, 'if I tell you, I have to kill you,' sort of situation! I am doing you a favor here Leo, so shut up do your damn job. I will not tell you again!"

Rabinowitz stared at Volkov with a look of fury on his face. "You want to be like that? Fine. Sergeant Xanthus!" he abruptly bellowed, causing everyone to jump.

"Sir?" Xanthus asked, quickly recovering.

"Pack everything up! We're leaving!"

"What the hell do you think you're doing Captain?" Volkov demanded to know.

"Exfilling," was Rabinowitz's blunt rely. "This mission is over."

"Excuse me? This mission is over when _I_ deem it to be!"

Rabinowitz viciously jabbed a finger in the direction of the smoldering crater. "We just destroyed your objective! We're finished here!"

"Mission parameters have changed. New missions objectives have been added due to new intelligence. This shit happens all the time, and you know it! You don't get to pick and choose when you want to walk away Captain!"

"That was **not** part of the arrangement!"

"What arrangement?" Volkov exclaimed. "This is not a business transaction! You are a fucking soldier! Your job is to obey fucking orders!"

"I'M NOT SACRIFICNG ANY MORE OF MY MEN JUST SO YOU CAN GET YOUR CHANCE AT **FUCKING** REDEEMPTION!" Rabinowitz screamed.

For the first time, Volkov looked stumped.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Volkov demanded.

Rabinowitz let out a bitter laugh. "What, you think I can't read between the lines?"

"What…"

"Let me guess how it started," Rabinowitz interrupted. "Alluvion. For the time in decades, the UNSC was on the verge of losing an entire colony to the Insurgency. Anti-UNSC sentiment was at an all-time high, open warfare was raging in the streets, and moral was at rock bottom. High Command need a win, badly, to turn the tides. So they sent you, Special Warfare Group Three, to clean up the mess. Your objective was simple: locate and eliminate Insurgent leadership. After all, armies couldn't operate without generals, right?"

"Only, insurgencies don't work that way, do they? Eliminate one head, and another two take its place. Frustrated by a lack of progress, you guys began taking shortcuts. I'm sure it started off small. Probably started grabbing people off the streets based on the flimsiest of evidence, targeting the family members of known collaborators, that sort of thing. But then that led the way to torture chambers, people disappearing overnight from their homes, rendition sites. Next thing you know, people are getting executed in the streets. Don't even try to deny it, I've read the reports," Rabinowitz added as Volkov opened his mouth.

"I know what happened," Volkov angrily said. "But I don't see what the fuck this has to do with anything."

"But your tactics failed," Rabinowitz continued to say, as if Volkov hadn't spoken. "Instead of weakening the Insurgency, it **strengthened** it because you gave them the moral high ground, granting them the biggest propaganda coup ever. And when High Command found out, they were **pissed**. They needed a scapegoat. But before anything could happen, the Covenant attacked. And you, you didn't have the same sense as your commanding officers to get killed in action. And so, when the dust settled, as the highest ranking officer of the Phoenix Program, _you_ got the blame for everything. How did that feel, Lieutenant Colonel?"

Moss could see Volkov clutching his fist, and he was getting red in the face.

"So now the disgraced Major Volkov," Rabinowitz continued, "is doing everything and anything to redeem himself. Clear his name. Regain his honor! And who cares about the people who die along the way! As long as you achieve your goal, right?" Rabinowitz leaned in close so he was almost butting heads with Volkov. "I am not playing along."

Volkov took a shuddered breath. "You," he began, "don't know a **fucking** thing. So you read some reports. A couple of new articles. And now you think you know all there is to know? You don't know a damn thing. See, this is why you could never get promoted as fast as me. You could never see the big picture! There is more at stake here then the lives of your fucking men! You are nothing more than assets! Expendable assets!"

Rabinowitz laughed. "Wow, that Innie was right," he commented, gesturing at Dubois' rapidly cooling body. "You are a government tool. We're done here."

With that, he spun around on one heel and started to walk away.

Volkov pulled out his sidearm.

"Stop right there," he demanded, pointing his pistol right at Rabinowitz's head. "This is desertion. You know what happens to deserters?"

Rabinowitz turned around and stared right at Volkov without a hint of fear. "You going to shoot me too Volkov? What do you think will happen, hmm? Executing Innies is one thing but shooting UNSC soldiers? I don't think your career can survive another hit like that."

"Or maybe I just shoot you in the leg, leave you here for the Covenant," Volkov snapped back.

Rabinowitz let out a derisive snort. "And you think my men will just allow you to get away with that? If push comes to shove, who do you think they'll side with? The man who has fought and bled with them for months now, versus the officer they just met who has flat out said they're expendable?"

"If they know what's good for them, they'll follow orders," Volkov snarled.

"Well. Let's put that to the test then."

Without warning, Rabinowitz took a step forward. Grabbing the muzzle of the pistol, he raised it until it was pushing against his temple.

"Sir, what are you doing?" Xanthus cried out in alarm. Rabinowitz ignored him.

"You think my men will side with you over me? Go ahead then, shoot me," Rabinowitz challenged. "Put a bullet in me right now."

"What, you think I won't?" Volkov retorted, flicking the safety off.

"I think even an idiot like you realizes just how outnumbered you are," Rabinowitz shot back. "But if you're so sure, put a bullet in me, right now!"

"YOU THINK I WON'T?" Volkov bellowed.

"THEN SHOOT ME YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

"Okay, that's enough."

Moss jumped when both Rabinowitz and Volkov turned to look at him. He hasn't meant to say that out loud, and he certainly hadn't meant to say it loud enough for both of them to hear him. But now that he had spoken, he had no choice to push on. Clearing his throat to buy some time so he could summon up his courage, he took a step forward.

"Both of you are being fucking idiots," Moss informed them.

"Now listen here Sergeant," Volkov began but Moss quickly interrupted him.

"No Major, _you_ listen. You are both officers of the UNSC Army. What that means is, you're both in charge; you _lead_. What that doesn't mean is that you two get into a screaming argument and starting **pulling weapons on each other!** "

"Captain," Moss said, leveling his best glare at Rabinowitz. "What the fuck does it matter what the Major's motivation for accomplishing this mission is? It's not going to change the fact that we're already here, right now at this very moment, and that, no matter what, we still to have to deal with it! So pull yourself together!"

"Major!" Moss whirled around to face Volkov. "If this mission objective is so hush hush, why the hell didn't you at least requisition personnel with a top secret clearance? People you could read into whatever the fuck we're looking for?"

"I did!" Volkov angrily retorted. "But I got **you** instead!"

"Yeah, and now you're stuck with us!" Moss pointed out. "You even said so yourself, you don't have anybody else! We're here, and we're the only people in position who even have a chance to accomplishing your mission objectives! You need us right now! But we're not going to continue to following you, a complete stranger, into hell, based on some vague notion that what we're doing is for the survival of humanity! We need something a bit more substantial than that sir. So, if this mission is as crucial as you say it is, then you need to figure out a way to motivate us. Some other way besides threats, that is," Moss added, "because, and I'm not trying to threaten you sir, just pointing out a fact; right now it would be so much easier for us just to frag your ass and walk away."

Moss trailed off as he realized he couldn't think of anything else to say, so he settled for glaring at the both of them, willing them to see reason. After a few seconds, Volkov flicked the safety on his sidearm back arm and holstered his weapon.

"Let me make a call," he finally said with a sigh.

"Take as much time as you need sir," Moss told him as calmly as he possibly could. He waited until Volkov had walked away before turning to Rabinowitz. "Sir, with all due respect, I suggest you take this moment to pull yourself together. Why don't you check the perimeter or something?"

Rabinowitz grunted in agreement. Moss waited until Rabinowitz had walked away before letting out a relieved sigh. His hands were shaking and he was breathing rather heavily, like he had just run a couple laps around the block. He couldn't believe he had just done that. Moss never considered himself an aggressive guy, nor, despite his chosen profession, did he enjoy violence. He always considered himself a "let live and let die" kind of guy. But at the same time, he knew what he did had to be done, and he wasn't going to apologize for it.

Moss glanced at Poblede, who nodded in approval, then glanced at Norén, who looked rather amused by the entire situation. Roer, on the other hand, looked rather shaken, and Moss knew he was going to have to talk with him eventually. But first, Moss had to calm himself down.

"Fuck man! That was awesome!"

Moss whirled around to see Griffin standing behind him, looking ecstatic.

"Man, you really told them!" Griffin continued with a shake of his head.

"Griffin, what the fuck are you doing?" Moss blurted out. "You're supposed to be watching the perimeter!"

"Well that's boring. This is a lot more fun."

"Dammit Griffin, we talked about this!" Moss snarled. He seized Griffin by the shoulder and marched him back to the corner he was supposed to be watching. "This is the military, we don't do fun! When I tell you to watch the fucking perimeter, you stay and watch the fucking perimeter! Stay here and don't fucking move until… oh shit **CONTACT**!"

There was a flash of green and –

* * *

Broman777

Thanks so much for the review. I completely agree with the idea that the UNSC probably has a wide variety of performance-enhancing drugs or stimulants that they issue out for general usage, probably similar to the ephedra-based Ripped Fuel the United States Marine Corps had during the 2003 invasion of Iraq (as depicted in the HBO series _Generation Kill_ ,) and I'm sure energy drinks and caffeine based products are consumed by the gallon. However, none of that is going to be depicted in this story because if you recall what Moss was carrying way back in Chapter 2, he didn't bring any of that with him. Though, in hindsight, I probably should have had him bring something of that nature along because that would probably be more realistic. Honestly, I just didn't think about it. It kind of makes me want to go back and retcon that in…

When you mention two units operating powered armor, I presume you're referring to Spartan-IIs and Spartan-IIIs? Perhaps in canon they're the only ones reported as having assigned power armor but honestly, I always thought ODST armor was some sort of low-tech power armor, especially after the way they were depicted in _Halo 3: ODST_. I mean, one of the cinematics depict three ODST troopers, none of whom are even described as being Spartan-Is or descendants of Spartan-Is, taking down a Brute Chieftain in hand to hand combat, something that even Spartan-IIs had difficulty with (okay, maybe that's just my gameplay.) So, there's that.

Then of course you have all the other powered exoskeletons depicted across the Halo universe: the HRUNTING Mark III 'Cyclopes' (as depicted in _Halo Wars_ though admittedly, those are used for logistical support, not combat,) the Mark I ADS (depicted in _Halo Legends,_ though to be fair, that was also depicted as a prototype,) the HRUNTING Mark IX 'Mantis' (as depicted in _Halo: 4_ and _Halo: 5_ ,) and finally, there's the Colossus (as depicted in _Halo Wars 2.)_

I suppose you could make the argument that all of the above mentioned are actually mini-mechas, as opposed to true powered armor, and none of them are infantry, but the point is, a lot more powered armor units do seem to exist in the Halo Universe.


	9. Chapter 8

**Warning: Long note ahead.** (Sorry)

Author's Note: Little bit of useless trivia for you guys: this chapter is actually an adaption of the very first _Halo_ fanfiction I ever wrote all the way back in 2013 (and never posted.) It's rather interesting to look back to when I first started and see how much my writing has changed over the years.

So, Broman778, in his review of the last chapter, pointed out something that I had failed to properly address, and I'd like to rectify that mistake before we continue: yes, you are correct in the fact that in canon, ONI did publicly reveal the existence of the Spartans to the general populace in order to boost morale. Except, they did that either in the year **2547** or **2549.** This story takes place in **2545** , two or four years before Spartans became public knowledge (both Halopedia and Halo Wiki give both years as the official year the Spartan-II's were declassified. Not sure which is the correct year, 2547 or 2549, and I'm not sure why the discrepancy.) As such, and because as shown in the Halo media Spartans didn't really operate with the UNSC Army too much during the war, Moss and company _don't know_ about the Spartans. Which is why they seem rather clueless about what is going on.

(I'm sure some of you right now are thinking "Well Ian, what about Noble Team?" Don't worry, that will get addressed sometime before the end of the story.)

Now, I'm sure some of you are asking, "Why the hell did you do it that way?" Um, to be honest… I have no idea. The setting of this story was decided all the way back in 2013 when I wrote the first draft and apparently past me never bothered to write down his reasoning. What a dick. When I picked this story back up at the beginning of 2017, I just kind of rolled with it. So… yeah. This is why I should always take notes.

As for the rest of your review, I always hate to disappoint my reviewers, especially since I have so few of them (hint, hint, nudge, nudge,) but I'm going to have to do so: you're not going to see any exotic weapons in this story. The _in-universe_ explanation is that it's only been seven hours since the Covenant first invaded and those weapons haven't been deployed or issued yet, especially to the 222nd Airborne Division, given that they were barely a functioning unit to being with. Now, the _real life_ explanation is, well, there are several reasons but one of which was: I didn't realize there was an interest in that sort of thing. In hindsight, I'll admit, that was kind of dumb of me. This is fanfiction after all. However, fear not. Part of the reason why I enjoy reviews so much is that it allows me to see what's working, what needs improvement, and _what readers want._ I am taking notes and I'm not promising anything, but I do currently have another story sitting on the drawing board, and if I do end up getting around to writing it, that's when you'll see stuff like that. Whether or not that story will see the light of day will entirely depend on how I feel when (if) I finish this story.

Last thing: I probably should have asked this three chapters ago, but do people prefer to see my responses to reviewers before or after the chapter? (Or, would you rather not see the response at all and I'll just do everything via PM?) If you guys could let me know what you prefer, that would be appreciated. Thanks.

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

" _3-Charlie, this Sierra zero six two, do you copy? Alpha one niner, come in."_

Moss jerked awake as he felt someone drive their elbow into his ribs. For a moment he sat there, feeling strangely exhausted, his head throbbing, as he attempted to re-orientate himself. Rubbing his eyes, he waited for the floor to stop spinning before glancing over his shoulder to see who had hit him. Ferguson was sitting in the spot next to him, a mild look of concern on his face. He leaned in close.

"Private, you alright?" he shouted to be heard over the roar of the Pelican engines.

Moss stared at him in confusion for a moment before shrugging his shoulders. "Yeah," he replied. "I think so. Mild headache. Probably the pressure change. What's going on?"

In lieu of a response, Ferguson pointed to the back of the plane. The red light over the rear cargo ramp had just turned on, and the sight electrified Moss, sending shivers down his spine and causing him to shake off the last remaining vestiges of exhaustion.

"We're nearing the drop zone!" Ferguson reported. "Let's start getting ready!" He frowned. "You sure you're alright Private? You look pale, like you just saw a ghost or something."

Moss opened his mouth to reply, but then paused. Something did feel a little strange about this situation, but he just couldn't put his finger on it. "Just a little nervous, I guess," he finally said. "About to jump into combat for the first time."

Ferguson nodded. "That's understandable. Just keep your head on a swivel and do exactly what I tell you to, copy that?"

"Affirmative."

Ferguson grinned. "Good. Now go wake up your girlfriend."

Despite his best efforts, Moss felt his cheeks begin to burn with embarrassment, and he quickly turned away before Ferguson could see it. Despite Ferguson's teasing, there wasn't actually anything going on between him and Poblede. They were just two young people around the same age, who just so happened to be assigned to the same squad at about the same time, which is why they hung out with each other. Under different circumstances, Moss doubted they would have even become friends, as they actually had very little in common.

Still, that being said, Moss couldn't deny the fact that Poblede was pretty hot and the idea of shacking up with her did have some appeal.

Leaning over, Moss carefully poked her in the cheek. "Piper!" he called out. "Hey Piper! Wake up!"

Poblede woke up with a jerk.

"Wha-?" she said, quickly wiping the crud out of her eyes. "Moss? What's going on?"

"We're nearing the drop zone," Moss gently informed her. "Come on, get up."

"Man," Poblede complained, even as she started to stretch out her arms. "Why'd you have to wake me up for? I was having a good dream: I was on a beach with my husband, drinking a milkshake."

"Well, you were so excited when we left the staging area, I figured you didn't want to miss the invasion," Moss informed her with a nod. Then he realized what she actually said. "Wait. Husband? You're married?"

"What? You didn't know that? Aren't you two like, besties or something?" another voice said, causing Moss to jump. He quickly whirled around to see Shin, checking over her assault rifle, standing behind him. She grinned. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't scare me," Moss quickly denied. "Just, uh, just startled is all. Didn't expect to see you here."

Shin cocked her head. "Why wouldn't I be here?"

That gave Moss pause. Of course Shin would be here. Why wouldn't she have been?

He winced as his head began to throb again. This was giving him a headache.

"So, Sergeant, you never did answer me," Poblede was saying as Moss did his best to recover. "What's up with our new Lieutenant?"

"Lieutenant Lancelot?" Ferguson asked. "What, you got something against him? You certainly didn't raise any objections to him when he was giving us all that weapons training during our pre-deployment buildup."

"No, I got nothing against him," Poblede quickly said. "I'm just asking: since when are there executive officers at the platoon level?"

"Since experience has shown casualties are highest among the officer corps, especially on the first jump," Ferguson explained.

"But why a butterbar?"

"He's no butterbar," Shin protested. "He's a mustang(1). Former Marine Force Recon. For all intents and purposes, that's special operational forces right there."

"Of course that's what you would be worried about," Poblede commented with an obvious roll of her eyes.

"I'm just say, he's got all the training you would expect of an operator: BRC, SERE, Jump School, etc. He's better trained than all of us combined. Probably a better shot than you even."

"No one's a better shot than me," Poblede declared and Moss couldn't help but let out a derisive snort at her cockiness.

" _Attention all personnel, we are three minutes to drop,"_ the pilots abruptly said over the Pelican's intercom. _"All Paras, make ready."_

All conversations ceased as everyone quickly began checking over their equipment, making sure everything was secured. For his part, Moss quickly tightened all his straps before hefting his M739 SAW, checking to make sure it was loaded and ready for action the moment he hit the ground.

"Listen up!" someone at the front of the Pelican abruptly yelled. Moss twisted his head to see an Army Sergeant making his way down the aisle to the rear of the Pelican. He looked familiar, but for some reason, Moss couldn't put a name to the face.

"All of you know what's at stake here," the Sergeant was saying. "So I'm not going to repeating it. We're going in as part of the first wave which means things are going to get really hairy, really quickly. So I want every Trooper aboard this bird to be ready to fight the moment we hit the ground. I know the pressure on you has got to be enormous right now, but don't worry; it's alright to be scared. Remember: there can be no courage unless you're scared(2)."

Moss jumped as heavy hand landed on his shoulder. He turned to see the Sergeant had somehow ended up standing right next to him.

"You good to go Private Shen?" he asked.

Moss stared at the man, before it abruptly clicked who he was seeing.

"Sergeant Tanner?" Moss gaped, stunned, though he couldn't figure out why. Tanner was his squad leader; it was only logical he would be here. But for some reason, Moss couldn't help but be shocked, as if there was something odd about Tanner's appearance.

Without warning, Moss felt a stabbing sensation in his head, like a little midget was trying to cut his way out of Moss' brain. He doubled over as the pain overwhelmed his senses, tears leaking from his eyes as he did his best to remind himself to keep breathing as he waited, or rather prayed, for the pain to subside.

And just like that, it was over, leaving Moss with a throbbing sensation. He opened his eyes, only to find himself sitting back down in his seat, his restraints pulled across his chest, secured tightly enough that it was actually making it hard to breathe. He tugged at the straps, but they refuse to give, so he reached down to undo the latch but it wasn't there. There was no visible way to undo the straps. He was pinned to the seat.

Alarmed, Moss looked up to call for help, but then stiffened. As if this situation wasn't peculiar enough, no one seemed to have noticed his absence.

" _One minute,"_ the pilots announced.

"Remember your training!" Tanner yelled from the rear of the Pelican, having somehow traveled the entire length of the Pelican without Moss noticing. "And you will make it through! WHAT ARE WE?"

"AIRBORNE!" the entire bay yelled back.

"Damn right we are," Tanner declared.

" _Thirty seconds."_

"MASK ON!" Tanner ordered, strapping on his oxygen mask as, with a whine of hydraulics, the ramp opened, exposing the cargo bay to the dark sky outside.

Moss started losing feeling across his entire body as temperatures inside the Pelican dropped to below freezing, and it became increasingly harder to breathe as all the oxygen was _released into the thin atmosphere. He frantically tugging at his restraints as explosions began lighting up the skies outside; near missed from Covenant AAA batteries. Then there was a loud_ buzz, _and the light above the ramp turned green. Tanner thrusted his arm forward, before tossing himself out of the Pelican and disappearing into the darkness. The rest of the passengers followed suit, and Moss quickly realized he was going to get left behind. He attempted to release his restraints again, only this time he couldn't even move his arms. His entire body was freezing, his restraints were pressing hard against his chest, making it hard to breathe and –_

Moss gasped. His entire body was numb aside from a tingling sensation, like he was lying on pins and needles. Yet, at the same time, his head was on fire, throbbing with so much pain as if it was going to split in two. Something was pressed hard against his chest, constricting his diaphragm and making it extremely hard for Moss to breathe. His brain screaming in pain at him, Moss tried to push the object away, but it refused to give that easily. He tried to figure out what exactly it was that was keeping him pinned down, but he couldn't see and his hands were just too numb for him to feel out what it was.

He began frantically patting the area around him, looking for, for… something! Anything! Something to help him out of his predicament! He needed to breathe but unless he could get this damn thing off his chest, he was going to suffocate! But he couldn't move the fucking thing unless he could figure out where the edges were but he couldn't do that because he couldn't see so he needed to find a tool to help himself but he didn't know what he was looking for because he didn't know what was pinning him down and he really needed to get this thing off his chest because it was squeezing his lungs making it hard to breath and he really need some air because he was suffocating and, and, and…

Moss yelped in surprise as his frozen hand closed around something sharp. The object cut right through his glove and sliced his palm open. He could feel warm blood beginning to soak his glove, and the dull pain from the wound hit him like a bucket of cold water, cutting right through his panic. And just like that, Moss instantly calmed down.

His panic attack over, Moss filled his lungs as best as he could before turning his attention to the situation at hand. He couldn't stay here. That much was certain. He had to free himself, but in order to accomplish that, he first had to figure out what exactly was keeping him pinned. But the real question was, how was he going to do that?

Moss pondered the question for a few seconds before he came across a really simply solution: perhaps he should _open his eyes_ and see what it was?!

If he had a bit more room, Moss would have smacked himself for not even realizing his eyes were still closed. It was weird how, in a panicked state, a person could overlook something as simple as that.

Of course, opening his eyes turned out to be easier said than done. For some reason, it felt like parts of his body were refusing to listen to his brain. And then when they finally got the message, his eyelids still refused to open, as if they were stuck closed.

Reaching up with his good hand, Moss managed to wedge a couple of fingers under his safety googles and wipe away the frozen crud that was keeping his eyelids closed. Finally ready, Moss slowly opened his eyes –

\- and stared straight into the blank eyes of a dead man hovering less than five centimeters away from his face.

" **Holy shit**!" Moss screamed, and with a strength born out of fear, he shoved the body and the pile of snow covering them off him and scrambled away on his hands and knees.

Unfortunately, the movement reignited the pain in his head, and he collapsed back to the ground, gasping in pain, as his head suddenly felt like it was under so much pressure, as if a giant hand had just grabbed his brain and squeezed. The pain was so intense, he began seeing dark spots on the edges of his vision, and tears began welling up in his eyes. Then he felt his stomach roiled and he had just barely enough time to lower his balaclava and roll over onto his side before he puked.

Moss puked and puked until there was nothing remaining in his stomach and he was left dry heaving. Then he puked one more time just for good measure before allowing himself to collapse again, rolling until he was lying with his back on the ground next to his steaming pile of vomit. With his head throbbing and the world spinning, Moss closed his eyes and tried to focus just on breathing in an attempt to alleviate the pain. As he laid there, Moss reached up and removed his helmet, wincing as the cold air touched his bare scalp, in an attempt to release some of the pressure on his brain. He laid there, just breathing.

After a few minutes, Moss realized the pain in his head wasn't going away anytime soon. With his eyes still closed, he blindly snaked his hand down his body until he found his IFAK. Opening it up, he aimlessly dug around the pouch, looking for his stash of painkillers. Instead of pills though, his hand closed around a loaded autoinjector.

Briefly wondering why he had one, as autoinjectors weren't exactly standard issue, Moss shrugged before pulling back on his sleeve. Finding a bare patch of skin, Moss emptied the contents of the injector into his body, allowing the empty device to tumble out of his loose grip when he was done, before carefully folding his arms over his stomach and waited for the drugs to kick in.

Moss wasn't sure how long he laid there, listening to the dull crackleof distant gunfire and explosions, letting the cold snow cover him, but abruptly he realized at some point in the last few minutes he had reached a point where it no longer felt like his brains were about to dripple out of his nostrils every time he tried to think. Without opening his eyes, he carefully eased himself up into a sitting position, a small groan slipping out from between his lips as his battered body let out a twinge of pain in protest at the movement. Still, the drugs had definitely kicked in as Moss felt nothing more a numbing sensation across his entire body. Of course, that might have also been because of the freezing temperatures but whatever the case was, Moss was mobile again and that was what was important.

Cracking open his eyes, Moss waited for the ground underneath him to stop spinning. As he did, he noticed the bloody handprints he was leaving in the snow. Wondering where they came from, he looked around before realizing he had a cut on his hand. Reaching back into his IFAK, Moss pulled out one of cans of biofoam and began spraying it onto his wound. As the foam hardened, Moss stretched his fingers and found he couldn't quite entirely close his hand, so he tore a strip of fabric off his jacket and wrapped it around the wound.

His hand dealt with, Moss put the can back in his IFAK before, finally, taking stock of his surrounding area. He was currently sitting in the middle of the street in the middle of some city, which didn't make much sense to him. According to the pre-mission briefing, the nearest city was about eight klicks south of the DZ. There's no way in hell he missed the drop zone by that much.

Furthermore, the snow on the ground was also completely out of place. The Covenant had made landfall near the equator of Newsaka, in the tropics, so that's where Moss and his unit was getting deployed. Moss distinctively remembered this point because command had placed a massive emphasis on the need to defeat the Covenant, or at least force them into a pocket, before the monsoon season began because the expected torrential rains and flash flooding would play havoc on command's ability to provide both CAS and fire support, as well as keep the frontlines supplied. Average temperatures were expected to be around thirty to thirty three degrees Celsius, which was nowhere near the proper temperature to allow snow to develop. So the question that had to be asked was: where the _**fuck**_ was he?

Moss blinked.

Wait a minute. This wasn't Newsaka. The Newsaka Campaign was over. Newsaka was gone. Abandoned. By the UNSC. This was… Actium. That's right. He was on Actium, not Newsaka. But… what was he doing here again?

…

That's right, he was on a mission. Led by… Volkov. Major Volkov. They were here to destroy… well, Volkov had claimed it was satellite but it clearly wasn't. Moss couldn't remember if he had managed to learn what Volkov was _really_ after.

Moss took another look at his surroundings. Okay, things were making sense now. But now that he knew where he was, a new question arose: what the hell had happened?

Moss closed his eyes and tried to think. There had been an explosion; that much was certain. But more specifically, Moss just couldn't remember. The joys of getting hit by an explosive device. The overpressure wave had a tendency to mess with one's short term memory. But of course, if he had been hit by explosion, it should have fucked him up pretty badly. Maybe even killed him.

That thought gave Moss pause. Wait a minute. He wasn't dead, was he? He immediately felt foolish for even asking, but under the circumstances, he felt like it was an appropriate question. Which led to another one: how exactly did one know when they were dead? Was there a sign? Singing angels? An old man in a black cloak? Something like that?

Moss suddenly thought about how much pain he'd been in a few minutes ago. He wasn't a religious man, but all the religious text he'd seen all seemed to agree that passing into the next world was supposed to be a relieve, not a pain. So that had to mean he was still alive, right?

But, then again, he was no longer in pain. Which was weird, now that he thought about it. So… maybe he had been alive. But then he died.

Right?

Moss absentmindedly picked up an empty autoinjector off the ground. Briefly wondering where the hell it had come from, he shrugged before using the handle to scratch his head.

…

…

Gah! Moss was in no shape or form to be thinking about this right now. Let's just say, he was still among the living.

"He was still among the living," Moss parroted out loud before giggling to himself. He had seen that in a TV show once(3).

Wait, dammit! Focus Moss, focus! Okay, so he was on Actium. And he wouldn't be here unless he was in combat. So….

Moss looked down at his body for the first time, noticed he was decked out in full battle rattle. Almost by reflex, he began inspecting his armor. His chest armor was intact, though there were clearly some fresh dents in them, but nothing had penetrated. His body was probably all black and blue, and would continue to be so for the next few weeks or so, but the important thing for now was that he wasn't bleeding anywhere else. Or at least, anywhere that he could see. Who knew what sort of internal injuries he was suffering from? Interestingly enough, he wasn't wearing his standard issued pauldrons or his blast diaper, but now that he thought about it, he vague remembered taking those off hours ago. So, never mind.

The next step was to take inventory. Strapped to his belt, he had his IFAK, a bandolier of 40mm grenades, though it only contained two smoke grenades, his radio pack, his M11 bayonet and sheath, his multi-tool as well as three fully loaded rifle magazines in his chest rig strapped to his lower abdomen. He also had a TACPAD strapped to his forearm, but a piece of shrapnel had hit it, destroying in the process. He started to remove the broken device, but then he noticed the rucksack strapped to his back. Removing it, he emptied the contents onto the ground.

There wasn't much inside. Four blocks of C-12, a couple of magnesium flares, two thermal blankets, a roll of tape and a bundle of IR chemlights. Nothing else. He didn't have any blasting caps, fuses, detonating cord, or electrical wire. Without them, his C-12 was about as useful as modelling clay right now, the reason being, due to the stability of C-12, the only way to set them off was to use extreme heat and a violent shockwave; in other words, another explosion. A person could shoot a block of C-12, throw it, run it over with a Scorpion tank, set it on fire, or a combination of all the above, and it still won't explode. So, the lack of his other supplementary material was not only odd, but a problem, to say the least.

Moss reached up and ran a hand through his hair. That kind of sucked. Then a thought occurred to him. Where was his rifle?

Looking around, he spotted the butt of a rifle sticking out from a snow bank nearby. He grabbed it and pulled it closer, only to realize it wasn't his MA37 assault rifle. It was a suppressed BR55 battle rifle, covered in white camouflaged paint. Much of the finish had been scratched off, the digital ammo counter had shattered, and there a small crack in the scope lens, but Moss still recognized it: it was Volkov's. But where the hell was Volkov?

Moss looked around, but there was no one else around but him. Odd.

Shrugging to himself, Moss performed a quick functions check to make sure the rifle still worked. It did, so he ejected the magazine and unloaded it so he could count how many rounds were left.

"Ah. Now _that_ is a problem," Moss muttered to himself.

There were only eighteen rounds left. That shouldn't have been an issue as Moss still had three fully loaded magazines. The problem was, his magazines were loaded with 7.62x51mm bullets. The BR55 battle rifle series used an experimental 9.5x40mm round. They were completely, and utterly, incompatible.

Moss couldn't decide whether he wanted to laugh or cry. He had over a hundred and twenty rounds on his person, only, he couldn't _ **FUCKING USE ANY OF IT**_ **.** How ironic was that -

Hang on a second. Was that even an example of irony?

That was one thing Moss always had trouble with in his English classes back in his school: how to identify irony. It was all just so confusing. For starters, there were just so many of them. And of course you had all the other freaking literary terms like motifs, similes, allusions, metaphors, leitmotifs, allegories… seriously Mrs. Holmes, how was a simple student supposed to keep track of all of them!?

…What was he thinking about again?

Oh right.

Anyways, the point was, here he was, all alone in the middle of this damn city, with only a half loaded rifle and a shitty bayonet to defend himself with.

Moss abruptly remembered the body that had been lying on top of him when he came to and realized his pervious assessment wasn't entirely accurate.

Suppressing a grunt of pain, Moss scooted himself over so he could search the body over. Cause of death was pretty easy to determine: the man's back looked like someone had taken a giant cheese grater to it, shrapnel having punched right through his armor and into his body. The jagged pieces of metal sticking out of the back of the man's head probably hadn't helped matters either. And that was just the outside. Moss hated to even imagine what sort of internal damage the poor man had suffered from, though his partially naked status, the result of the shockwave having torn his uniform apart, gave Moss a clue.

Grabbing a hold of the body, Moss started to turn it over so he search the soldier's front. As he did, he noted how cold and stiff the body was. Was it because the body was frozen? Or was it because rigor mortis had already set in? Moss vaguely remembered that it took something like four to six hours for rigor mortis to fully set in on bodies on Newsaka. But that was in the tropics. Didn't freezing temperatures speed up the process? Or did he have it backwards? He couldn't remember.

Moss shook his head in frustration. He was hoping for a clue to figure out how long he'd been out for, but a forensic scientist he was not. So much for that idea. Turning his attention back to the body, he glanced at the man's face and then froze.

It was Griffin.

Griffin's face was pale, aside from some purple red splotches on his checks. His bloodshot eyes were wide open and were completely glazed over in death. His mouth was slight open and it looked like some of his teeth had been knocked out. His nostrils and upper lip was covered in dried blood, some of which was already turning brownish in color, and frostbite was beginning to show on his nose and lower lip. The expression on his face was one of complete surprised. Clearly, he hadn't seen or felt his death coming.

A memory suddenly flashed through Moss' mind.

" _You're supposed to be watching the perimeter!"_

" _Well that's boring. This is a lot more fun."_

Moss shook his head as Griffin's voice fade away in his head.

"Oh Griffin. You dumb motherfucker," he whispered to himself as he ran his hand through his hair.

Moss still couldn't remember exactly what had happened. But, it wasn't hard to figure out. Griffin always had a discipline problem; mainly, he just didn't care about anything, including his own life. Moss had always suspected that mentally had a lot to do with the way Griffin had grown up. He had never come and outright said it, but he had dropped enough hints for Moss to realize Griffin had had a really shitty childhood and that he lived everyday thinking it was going to be his last.

In this particular incident however, what probably happened was Griffin had been on guard duty, but hadn't been paying enough attention. Because of that, someone, a Covenant soldier more than likely, had been able to sneak up and throw an explosive device at them. Based on how they were positioned when Moss woke up, Griffin must have been standing in front of him, acting as a human shield and absorbing all the shrapnel, leaving Moss to get hit by the overpressure wave. That would explain why Griffin was dead and Moss wasn't…

Cupping his face with his hands, Moss lowered his head in grief. God dammit all.

With as much experience he had now, this was not the first comrade Moss had lost in the line of duty. Nor was it even the first soldier under his command that had been killed in action. In fact, given recent trends, Moss was pretty sure he would lose a lot more before the day ended. With that being said, losing a friend was not something he had gotten used to and, to be honest, it was not something he ever wanted to get used to.

Moss could feel tears sliding down his cheeks, and he quickly wiped them away before they could freeze. It hurt. There was no other way to describe it. It hurt knowing another this war had taken another one of friends. It hurt knowing that, whether by accident or by design, if it weren't for Griffin, Moss would probably be lying on pavement right next to him. But most of all, it hurt Moss knowing that, he had no choice but to leave Griffin's body here in the street for the scavengers.

Cupping his hands together, Moss lowered his head and tried to think of something to say, something that would honor Griffin for his sacrifice. Unfortunately, nothing came to mind. He tried to think of the prayer for the dead his father used to recite when he was younger, but he couldn't remember it. So instead, Moss opted to just go ahead and close Griffin's eyes and bow his head. After about a minute of respectful silence, Moss decided to go ahead and started searching Griffin's body for supplies he could use. He felt like scum, picking through his friend's body, but he knew Griffin would have understood.

However, after a few seconds of looking, it was clear it was a pointless endeavor. Aside from Griffin's radio and a single thermite grenade whose activation lever had sheared off, rendering it useless, it was clear the explosion had pretty much destroyed anything useful. All of Griffin's ammo had been ripped apart and any supplies he might have been carrying before he died had been cut to pieces by shrapnel. His SAW was also gone, having been thrown to who-knows-where.

Pocketing the thermite grenade, just in case, Moss exhaled and leaned back. Looking around, it was clear there was nothing left for him here. He needed to move out. He had to locate the front so he could attempt to rendezvous with friendly forces. From that point, he could then figure out how to proceed with the rest of the mission.

Before abandoning Griffin's body completely, Moss took a moment to retrieve one of Griffin's dog tags from around his neck. Then he pulled out one of the thermal blankets from his rucksack.

"Rest in peace Job," Moss whispered as he cover Griffin. "You've definitely earned it."

Patting Griffin on the shoulder one last time, Moss climbed to his feet to move out.

Or rather, that had been the plan.

The moment Moss put any pressure on his left foot though, it immediately gave way, sending him tumbling back to the ground and causing his head to bang against the pavement. Moss immediately seized up, grabbing his head with both hands as a tendril of pain lanced through his entire body.

" **Fuck!** " Moss swore as the pain subsided. "What the hell?"

Coughing, Moss awkwardly pushed himself back up into a sitting position. Carefully crossing his legs, he glanced at his left foot, letting out a string of curses when he spotted the hole. He forgot he had been shot through the foot earlier in the day.

Without removing his boot, partially because he was afraid if he did, he wouldn't be able to put it back on and partially because he just didn't want to see how bad his foot was, Moss studied the wound. The biofoam that he remembered Roer had packed into both the entry and exit holes had already begun to break down. Fresh blood was beginning to ooze out from both ends, and the flesh around the wounds was already turning a darkish color. His foot had swollen up, and he found it next to impossible to bend his toes.

Moss tilted his head back in irritation. Great, just what he needed. Before he went anywhere, he had to get this patched up. First, he had to clean it out.

Taking out his bayonet, Moss gritted his teeth and began removing the partially hardened biofoam as best he could without removing his boot. He carefully worked his way around the wound until blood began to flow freely. He then quickly grabbed one of his cans of biofoam and reapplied it to his foot, tossing away the empty can when he was finished. Tearing off a couple of strips of fabric off the blanket covering Griffin, Moss used it to plug the holes in his boot.

Next, he had to figure out how he was going to walk. Using his rifle as a crutch, he staggered upright. With a bit of apprehension, he gingerly put his foot on the ground. He found that, as long as he didn't put all his body weight down on it, he could stand without too much difficulty. So he tried to walk, but because he couldn't bend his toes, he couldn't move without limping. Moss tried to remember how he managed to get so far without any problems, but then decided all the adrenaline must have prevented him from realizing how bad off he was.

"Oh well," Moss said out loud. "Not going to be running any marathons anytime soon. Now what?"

He looked around, trying to figure out where he was supposed to go now. But in the time he'd been out, everything had gotten covered with snow, so even if he could remember which way he had come from, there was no way he would be able to tell now.

Figuring he'd might as well just choose a path at random, he shouldered his rifle and started walking forward, but only managed to take a couple of steps before stopping. This didn't feel right. He glanced behind him and decided he'd probably be better off in that direction, so he turned around and started walking away before stopping again. Hang on a tick. Was this the right way? Maybe he was right the first time.

Turning around, he took one step forward before stopping again.

"Shit," Moss muttered, turning left. "Maybe I should cross the street first?"

This time he managed a grand total of three steps before stopping again.

"Fuck," Moss said nervously, scanning his surroundings. If he took off walking in the wrong direction, it could be hours before he realized. He had to choose correctly the first time, otherwise he was going to get lost, however he'd be the first to admit his sense of direction was _terrible._ Where the fuck was Shin when you needed her? She was the one who took the basic land nav course.

"Motherfucker," Moss spat out as he realized he was just going to have to choose a course at random. But, he was going to do this the intelligent way.

Clumsily dropping back down to one knee, Moss quickly cleared a spot on the road of snow, and then pulled out his bayonet. Laying it in the bare spot he just cleared, he spun it. He waited until it stopped spinning, before looking in the direction the blade was pointing.

"Good enough," Moss said out loud as he re-sheathed his bayonet. "Let's go, we're Oscar Mike." He started walking.

Although, the route behind him seemed to be –

 **OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE JUST KEEP MOVING MOSS!**

"Alright!" Moss snapped at himself. "I'm moving. Jeez."

He started making his way down the street, walking around craters in the road, climbing over piles of debris, and forcing his way through snow banks. All the while he did his best to keep his injured foot from moving too much, least he aggravate his wound. He was going to have to get his foot checked out as soon as possible. This many hours, exposed to the air even if it was freezing, couldn't be healthy. Modern science was good, so Moss was pretty sure he wasn't going to lose his foot, but rehab was going to be a pain in the ass. And to think, he'd spent those two months on Newsaka doing his best to keep his feet healthy despite all the mud, the rain, and the bugs, and yet, less than a day on Actium, he managed to fuck it up so badly.

Moss snorted. Now _that_ was ironic.

Or was it?

Moss spent the next several minutes pondering the question. By the time he concluded he had no idea what the hell he was even thinking about anymore, he had managed to make it a couple of blocks away from his starting point, at which point he was about ready for a break. Spotting a hole blown into a nearby wall, Moss ducked into the building to least get out of the wind. Bring his rifle to bear, he swept the room, finding no one present, living or dead.

Discovering the hole led into a break room of sorts, Moss headed towards the center of the room where there was at least one chair and table left intact. As he limped towards the chair, he noticed a couple of vending machines in the far corner, and it suddenly hit him that he hadn't eaten anything since leaving the _Skalsk_ earlier this morning. Figuring it wouldn't be a bad idea to get some calories back into his system, Moss slung his rifle over his shoulder and headed towards the vending machine. Snagging the chair as he walked passed, he planted it in front of one of the machines. Throwing himself into the seat with a sigh of relief, Moss began surveying his options.

The front glass panels on both machines had already been smashed in, and all the food was missing from one of them, indicating someone else had the same idea, but there were still plenty of drinks in the other machine. Figuring he should rehydrate himself first, Moss grabbed a bottle of water and opened it up. Bring it up to his lips, he gulped it down with a speed that surprised even himself. Clearly he was a lot thirstier than he had realized.

Discarding the empty bottle, he grabbed another two and quickly downed them, before grabbing an energy drink. As it turned out, it was a bottle of _BLAST(4)._

"'Feel the Burn!'" Moss said out loud, reading the logo.

No thanks, he had enough injuries as it was. He didn't need to add burns to the list. He would, however, have this tasty beverage.

Taking a few sips, Moss leaned back in his chair, considering what he should eat. He wasn't hungry, but he felt like he should have something solid in his stomach. Unfortunately, whoever had cleared out the vending machine of food had done an excellent job; it was completely empty. He did however, notice a refrigerator behind him so he spun his chair around, hoping someone had left their lunch behind. He found a couple cups of yogurt and a container of what appeared to be some sort of cheesy pasta. Popping open the top, he tasted it.

Hm. Not bad. Would be nicer if it was hot. There had to be a microwave in here, right?

Pulling the container out of the fridge, Moss turned around to look for the microwave –

\- and damn near had a heart attack when he finally noticed the figure crotched in the corner to the left of the entrance, arms propped up on an overturned trash can, pointing a weapon at him.

"Fuck!" Moss yelped, hastily dropped the container and reaching for his rifle. Unfortunately, he grabbed it with his wounded hand and wasn't able to grip it properly, so when he pulled it out, it slipped out of his grasp. He fumbled to catch it, but sadly he had already forgotten about his wounded foot so when he took a step forward, pain shoot through his leg, causing it buckle. As he collapsed, Moss grabbed the chair in last ditch attempt to stop his fall, but all he succeeded in doing was knocking over on top of him. As he hit the ground, he felt a sharp pain in his neck as he desperately tried to prevent his head from banging against the ground again.

'Nice, real smooth,' he told himself.

'Shut up.'

Moss looked up, completely expecting to see the business end of a gun, but instead, saw that the other person hadn't responded at all to his graceful reaction. In fact, the person hadn't even moved a muscle yet. And that was because, Moss was belatedly realizing, the other person was in fact, dead.

A strained grunt escaped through his lips as Moss painfully scrambled upright, retrieving his rifle as he did. Bring his rifle up to a low ready position, Moss cautiously advanced on the corpse, keeping an eye out for traps. The Covenant weren't know for booby trapping the dead, however Innies were, and Dubois and Chiotis had proven that there were active Innie cells on this world. So, before Moss touched anything, he carefully checked the area around the body to make sure it wasn't wired to anything. As he scanned the body, Moss also wondered how on earth he missed seeing this guy when he first entered. However, as he drew closer, he realized that due to the way the wall had exploded, part of the wall had buckled inwards, created a sort of nook in the corner, making it next to impossible for anyone entering through the hole to see the corner.

Once Moss was satisfied the body wasn't wired to anything, or at least anything he could find, he lowered his rifle and considered his options. As soon as Moss had laid eyes on the corpse, he had instantly known that this had to be what Volkov had been looking for. For starters, the armor this corpse was wearing was very similar to the half-destroyed set he had found inside the crater. Granted, the set this man was wearing was missing quite a few components, probably due to battle damage, and there were some minor cosmetic changes, but aside from that it was virtually identical. He was even wearing the same style of helmet with the same golden visor as the corpse in the crater had.

Second, there was something about this man that just screamed he had been a fighter. Maybe it was the way he had positioned himself just before he died: taking cover in the one corner that made him next to impossible to spot from the entrance, back up against the wall to prevent anyone from sneaking up on him, his suppressed M6G pistol propped up on some support, covering the entire room, ready to cap any hostile that entered. Moss had unfortunately seen more than his fair share of people dying and he knew reactions varied; some people died screaming for their mother's or otherwise significant person in their lives. Others were resigned, acceptant of their impending doom. Only a select few however, died, ready to continue the fight.

And then there was of course the man's appearance. Moss wasn't exactly a midget; at 170 centimeters tall, he was a hair under the average height for a man of his age group and ethnicity. But even sitting down, Moss could tell if this man had been standing up, he would tower over Moss by at least a head and a half. And he was built too. His uniform and armor remnants couldn't hide the fact that he was virtually all muscle, and that he had biceps the size of Moss' freaking face. Then there were the injuries…

Moss had thought he himself was pretty impressive, being able to remain mobile despite having a cut up hand, an injured foot, and a concussion to boot. But his injuries were like a paper cut compared the wounds this man was sporting: gashes several centimeters long across the torso that looked like they came from an energy sword, third degree wounds from plasma bolts, a shattered right arm and what appeared to be several cracked ribs, more than likely the effects of a concussion rifle, a giant gaping hole where his left kneecap used to be, the results of a needler explosion no doubt, and of course enough metal shrapnel sticking out of his body he was starting to look like a human hedgehog. And that was just on the outside. About half the wounds appeared to be several hours old, patched up with biofoam that was already breaking down indicating that not only had this man _not_ seen the inside of a field hospital, he had continued to fight in his injured state long enough to acquire the other half of his injuries.

In fact, that was probably what did him in. Death by a thousand cuts.

Moss grabbed the corpse and extracted the man's dog tags from behind his uniform. Lifting one, he activated it, and was surprised by what he saw. Normally, dog tags had a wide variety of personnel information recorded, though specifically what type of information depended on the branch of service. His own Army issued dog tags, for example, had his full name, service number, blood type, and then finally his religious preference. But these tags only had one line.

"KAI-A019," the tags read, which told Moss absolutely nothing. He wasn't even sure what the information he was seeing meant. Was it an identification number? An acronym? A designation? A name? Without any more context though, all Moss could do was speculate. He also wondered why the tag was so blank and the only thing he could think of was the fact that this 'KAI' was clearly black ops, so perhaps Moss simply didn't have the clearance to see more?

Moss let out an exasperated sigh. Pocketing the tags, he wondered what he should do next. Well, not really. His mission objective had been pretty clear: find and destroy a crashed satellite. Only, Moss surmised, he could probably substitute the word 'satellite' for 'giant man in an armored suit.' He still couldn't figure out how this man managed to take down an entire Covenant CCS-class battlecruiser, but that wasn't important right now. Right now, his problem wasn't figuring out **what** to do at this point; he was supposed to destroy this man's body. The real question was **how.**

Two blocks of C-12 was probably enough to eviscerate this body, depending on what type of material and how thick the corpse's armor was. However, Moss just didn't have any reliable way of setting them off. He did have a single broken thermite grenade, of which he could remove the powder from and ignite with one of his flares, however 907 grams of thermite powder was hardly enough to properly cremate a body. Especially one that had been modified slightly, if Norén's assessment of the corpse in the crater had been accurate. In short, Moss was boned.

Letting out another frustrated sigh, Moss ran his hands through his hair –

Wait, what? Hair? Didn't he have a helmet on?

Moss suddenly realized he wasn't wearing his standard issued CH252 combat helmet, which he knew for a fact he had started the day off with. When the hell did he lose his helmet, and where the fuck was it?

He looked around the room, wondering if he had taken it off at some point while he was looking for food, but it was nowhere to be seen.

"Shit. Did I drop my helmet when I was outside?" Moss asked himself.

'I don't know, why don't you go check? Make it fast, will you?'

"Alright, alright, I'm going," Moss replied.

"Stay here," he told the corpse. "I'll be right back."

Hefting his rifle, Moss limped back to the hole in the wall and took a step outside. He glanced in the direction he had come from, but instead of seeing his helmet, he spotted something else. It took a few moments for his addled brain to comprehend just what he was seeing: a Covenant patrol making its way up the street, their jet black armor standing in contrast to the white snow that surrounded them.

"Oh **shit!"** Moss squealed, ducking down and hoping upon hoping the Covenant hadn't spotted him. Then it suddenly occurred to him it didn't probably matter: they were more than likely following the footsteps he had left in the snow, which had yet to be fully covered up.

Moss felt like smacking himself. He hadn't given any thought at all to cover up his tracks. Fuck. What was he going to do now?

Moss poked his head back up to figure out how much time he had. The Covenant patrol was about a block away, and moving _very_ slowly down the street, as if they expected to be ambushed at any moment. At the speed they were going, Moss estimated he had maybe ten to fifteen minutes before they were on top of him. That should have given him plenty of time to prepare an ambush, expect for the fact he had nothing to prepare with.

"Shit!" Moss hissed, darting back inside. "What the fuck do I do now?"

"You could always make a run for it."

Moss snorted. "Yeah, right. Like I'd be able to outrun them with this leg." He patted his left leg for emphasis. "Plus, what the fuck am I supposed to do with this guy? I can't just leave him here for the Covenant." He gestured at the corpse.

"Why the fuck do you care? Leave him."

"I can't do that asshole," Moss snapped. "He's my fucking objective. He's the entire reason why we're here. If I just fucking leave him, then Griffin and all the other infantry guys who've died so far died for nothing."

"See if you can't bring him along then."

Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, Moss darted over to the corpse and tried to pick him. It felt like he was trying to lift a Warthog. Even with gravity as low as it was, the best Moss could do was drag him, which wasn't exactly conducive for a speedy exit.

"Well," the voice in his head informed him. "I guess you're just going to have to fight it out."

Great.

Moss quickly searched the corpse, hoping to find something to help him. Obviously, there was the suppressed M6G, but the man had a death grip on it and Moss found it impossible to extract the weapon from the man's hands. He did find an M7 submachine gun magnetized to the corpse's right thigh, but SMG only had twenty rounds and Moss couldn't find any reloads. Then he noticed the SRS99-AMCQ sniper rifle propped up on the wall behind the corpse.

The SRS99-AMCQ sniper rifle was the close quarter's variant of the more common SRS99 anti-material sniper rifle. Designed with a shortened barrel and a folding stock for easier maneuvering in, well, close quarters, it still fired the same 14.5x114mm round as its larger cousin, abet, at a slightly lower velocity and effective range. With that begin said, it was still capable of taking an Elite's head clean off its shoulder at a little over two klicks away.

Moss eagerly seized the rifle. Ignoring the strain of holding the entire seventeen kilogram weight of the rifle unsupported in both hands, Moss peered through the scope to check the rifle's status. He lowered it a few moments later, feeling disappointed. According to the onboard computer, both the rifle and the top mounted Oracle N-variant scope were both in working condition. However, there were only two rounds left; hardly enough to take on the entire patrol. Even if he supplemented it with Volkov's half loaded battle rifle and KAI's partially loaded SMG, that still wouldn't be enough to take on the Covenant. If he could use his three assault rifle magazines though, that might have been enough but even then… even if Moss managed to take out the entire patrol before they called for help (highly unlikely,) that still didn't solve the problem of how he was going to destroy the corpse.

Moss started laughing. Here he was, with three different guns, roughly three hundred rounds of ammunition, and enough explosives to level an entire skyscraper, yet he couldn't use any of it. In short, he was fucked. Proper fucked.

"That… might not be entirely true."

"What do you mean?" Moss began to ask, but then a conversation he had with Norén a few days ago abruptly came to mind.

" _In many ways,"_ she had been saying, " _the fight against the Covenant now, reminds of the fight we Separatists had against the UNSC. With our limited supply lines and firepower, we were forced to improvise."_

And then, a few hours ago, hadn't she told him: _"Maybe it's time you stopped thinking like a UNSC soldier, and started thinking like a Separatist."_

"Okay," Moss said slowly. "I don't really see how this h-"

Moss paused mid-sentence as a thought occurred to him. Whatever happened to that det-cord necklace Norén gave him?

Excitedly, Moss tossed his rifle onto the table and quickly reached around his neck, pulling out the braided length of det-cord and, more importantly, the intact blasting cap it was still wired to. Moss didn't know whether to be amazed or shocked. Amazed that the little device had somehow remained intact all this time, or shocked that he had somehow managed to forget he'd been wearing a fucking _**bomb**_ around his neck. Whatever the case was, Moss was just glad it was here and now.

Of course, the real issue now was how to set off the blasting cap without blowing himself up. Then he remembered he still had Griffin's radio.

Oh snap. He might actually be able to survive this. And accomplish his mission objective at the same time.

Doing his best to remain calm, Moss poked his head outside to see how much time he had. The Covenant were about halfway, so Moss had to work fast to organize the room. He ducked back inside and went to work.

Removing two blocks of C-12 and Griffin's radio, Moss placed them on the table. Taping the blocks together, he quickly dismantled his necklace. Picking up the blasting cap like it was the most precious thing in the world, which, Moss supposed, it kind of was, he carefully inserted it into the plastic explosives. Next step was to rig up the detonator. Ripping the protective case covering it, Moss cautiously wired the detonator to the radio's receiver. Once that was he done, Moss gently hide the entire device on the underside of the table, securing it with copious amounts of tape.

Next step was to set up the stage. Moss could probably hide in the same corner the corpse was in which would allow him to avoid getting instantly detected by the Covenant, but he needed some way of distracting them long enough for him to make his escape. Fortunately, he had some ideas.

Grabbing a hold of the corpse, Moss dragged him across the room, depositing him in front of the table, facing the hole in the wall. Originally Moss had planned on sitting him on top of the table itself, but it was pretty clear this man was _way_ too heavy for Moss to pick him up like that. On the flip side, positioning the corpse in front of the table like that had the unforeseen benefit of hiding the bomb and its wires from sight.

Walking over to the pistol the corpse was holding, Moss ejected the magazine. He still couldn't pry the handgun loose, but it didn't matter at this point. Walking over to the microwave, Moss ejected all the rounds into it. There was no power in the room, so the microwave wasn't working, but Moss still had his broken TACPAD strapped to his forearm. Removing it, he smashed it open with the butt of his rifle and extracted the battery. He quickly wired the microwave to the battery and then put it on its highest heat setting before setting the timer for as long as he could. Hitting start, Moss threw his blanket over it in an attempt to muffle the noise. He had no idea how long the battery would be able to keep the microwave powered, but hopefully it would be long enough for the bullets to start cooking off.

Finally, Moss ran around the room opening all the cabinets until he found a small plastic bag. Taking out his thermite grenade, he pried the top of and dumped all the thermite powder inside. Placing the bag and one of his flares next to his hiding spot, Moss looked around the room. He was set. Time to reel the Covenant in. He exhaled.

"Well," he announced, flicking the safety of his rifle off and mentally readying himself. "Here goes nothing."

"Good luck."

"Thanks."

He poked his head outside. The Covenant were close. Moss needed them to be even closer. So, shouldering his rifle, Moss dropped his sights onto the lead Grunt and open fired.

His first two shots zipped over the Grunt's head by a good half meter or so. Moss swore as he abruptly realized he never bothered to make sure the sights were zeroed in properly. He quickly shifted his aim, but to the Covenant's credit, they had reacted instantly the moment the first bullet passed over them. They found cover and despite his suppressor, zeroed into his position **immediately** , and returned fire.

Moss ducked as a barrage of blue and green plasma bolts slammed into the ground in front of him, showering him with dirt. The familiar scent of ozone quickly filled his nostrils, and the noise of gunfire filled the air. The noise was especially jarring, not only because Moss had already gotten used to the quiet of the street, but also because he was belatedly remembering that without his helmet, he no longer had ear muffs. Gritting his teeth, Moss rose up and fired two shots down the street, hitting nothing but air, but he did notice the patrol had split into two teams, with one team sticking to the left side of the room and laying down suppressing fire, while the other was pushing up the street on the right. Shit. Time to fall back.

Not bothering to waste any more ammo, Moss darted back into his building and rolled into his hiding spot. Slinging the sniper rifle over his shoulder, Moss grabbed his plastic bag and flare and waited. The barrage outside abruptly ceased and in the ensuing silence, Moss could hear an Elite roaring out orders in their alien tongue. Then he heard footsteps and Moss quickly held his breath.

Outside, he could hear more orders getting thrown around, as well as the shuffling of equipment, causing Moss to frown. If the Covenant were smart, they would probably throw a grenade into the room first before storm it, which would be bad for Moss. Really bad.

Grabbing his SMG, he fired a quick burst outside, then ducked back down. Almost instantly, the entire room was lit up with green light as a couple of pistols hosed down the area with plasma. Moss watched as two of the bolts slammed into the corpse, knocking it over and landing on the ground with a loud _THUD._ The Covenant instantly ceased fire. There was a pause.

Moss held his breath as three Grunts entered the room, quickly fanning out to cover all the corners of the room. As he had hoped though, none of the Grunts noticed him cowering the corner, their attention all focused on KAI's corpse laying in the middle of the room. Moss flinched as the lead Grunt fired two shots into the corpse's head, just make sure he was dead, before raising his free hand up to his mouth and began excitedly speaking. Moss had no idea how to speak alien, so he had no idea what the Grunt was saying, but one word definitely caught his attention: "Demon."

Moss had no time to figure out what all that was about as he heard heavy footsteps, and the Elite leading the patrol entered the room, shoving his way passed the Grunts in an agitated fashion. Upon laying eyes on the corpse, he too began excitedly talking into his radio, for what reason, Moss had no idea but found he didn't care. He had seen enough. Slowly rising to his feet, Moss sprang into action.

He hurtled the plastic bag in his hand at the back of the Elite's head as hard as he could, which burst upon impact, showering the Elite with thermite powder. As the Covenant began turning around in surprise, Moss slammed the flare he was holding against his thigh, igniting it, and tossed it at the Elite. Then he turned heels and darted for the street.

The thermite powder coating the Elite ignited the moment the magnesium flare touched it, instantly setting the Elite on fire. Between the Elite's personal shield, heavy armor, and the small amount of thermite involved, Moss doubted it would do much, but getting your head set on fire was a panic inducing moment, no matter who or what you were.

From the corner of his eyes, Moss could see the Grunts leveling their plasma pistols, but at that moment, the ammunition in the microwave which had been silently running this entire time, finally got hot enough to cook off. A lot _POP POP_ noise filled the air, but because none of the energy was directed, the bullets did about as much damaged as a firework, but it was enough to cause the Grunts to flinch long enough for Moss to reach the entrance.

Dashing out of the building, Moss slammed into a very surprised Grunt standing outside, bowling him over. Smacking the Grunt over the head with the butt of his rifle, Moss took off down the street in the opposite direction the Covenant had come from, sprinting as fast as he could on his injured foot, hoping to get clear before the Covenant could recover.

 _PEW!_

Moss flinched as a plasma overcharge shot passed directly over his right shoulder, the ambient heat burning his bare scalp and setting his uniform on fire. Screeching in pain, Moss threw himself forward into a roll, tumbling into a muddy blast crater in the middle of the street, putting out the fire at the same time.

Tossing himself against the side of the crater onto his belly, Moss raised his rifle and fired twice, hoping to hit the Grunt that shot at him, but again he missed. Rather than waste any more ammo, Moss quickly reviewed the situation.

The other half of the Covenant patrol that hadn't entered the building was finding cover while bring their weapons to bear. And Moss could see they had a lot of support weapons too: plasma pistols, grenades, Needlers, even a plasma launcher. At the same time, the Covenant that had been inside were pouring out, including the Elite he had set on fire, looking no worse for wear. There was no way Moss could take them all on, leaving him only one option. He could only hope he had ran fast enough to escape the blast radius.

"Ah shit, this is going to hurt," Moss muttered.

Flinching as energy projectiles splashed against the top of his crater, Moss reached into his backpack and pulled out a pinch of C-12, shoving them deep into his ear canals to act as makeshift ear plugs. Hoping upon hope he had actually wired everything correctly, Moss curled up into a ball, then hit the transmit button on his radio. His radio let out a mute _squawk_ and then -

 _ **KABOOOOMMMMMMM!**_

The explosion shot out the hole in the wall and sent a shockwave ripping down both ends of the street. Moss was slammed into the ground as a literal wall of compressed air hit him like a deuce and a half. He could feel all the air getting sucked out of his lungs and the noise was devastating, even with his hands covering his makeshift earplugs. Moss thought about all the explosions he'd been exposed to today, and while his bomb didn't have nearly the amount of explosive power as some of the other munitions, his proximity and the damage done to his protective equipment by all the other explosions he'd been through so far meant this one felt the most devastating one yet, by far.

And then suddenly, just as quickly as it began, it was over.

Moss laid there, trying to remember how to breathe, as dirt and dust and debris and melted snow rained down around him. Once he was sure the last of it had fallen, he force himself up into a sitting position. He found his entire body was trembling, his ears were ringing, and warm liquid was dripping out of just about all of his orifices: his nose, his left ear, his mouth, even his eyes. He felt faint, the world was spinning, and when he leaned over and puked, there was clearly blood in his vomit, though Moss wasn't sure if the blood was from his mouth or his stomach. He didn't feel any pain, but that didn't really mean much because he couldn't really feel much of anything right now. He was a little surprised by how much damage he had suffered; he could have sworn he had it made a decent distance away before detonating the bomb. Perhaps the earlier explosion had weakened his body?

"Fuck," Moss said, if only to see if he still had hearing after all that. "Fuck!" he repeated, louder this time.

Belatedly he realized he still had his earplugs in and moved to removed them. His missed the first two times because his hands were still shaking so much, but he eventually got there. As soon as he removed his left one though, he winced. Ooh, yeah, left eardrum was definitely blown out. Either he didn't use enough material, or it hadn't been seated properly when the bomb went off.

"God dammit," Moss yelled, and was somewhat relieved he could still hear, even if it was a bit muffled. Well, at least that was one less thing he had to worry about.

Moss had wanted to wait for his trembling to stop, but after a few minutes where neither the shaking nor the ringing in his ears had faded away, Moss realized he had to move on before more Covenant patrols arrived. Standing up on his shaky legs, Moss glanced at the havoc he had brought.

All the walls of the building had blown out, but the building itself was surprisingly still standing. The street and the surrounding buildings were scorched and covered in pockmarks. Of the Covenant patrol, was no sign of them remaining, not even bodies. Hopefully, that also meant the corpse of KAI-A019, whoever he was, had also been incinerated.

"Damn…"

Moss turned around to see Tanner standing behind him, with an impressed look on his face.

"Good work Soldier," he said, admiring the destruction. "Very impressive."

Moss smiled. "Thanks Sergeant," he said appreciatively. "Though, we should probably get out of here before more of them show up."

Tanner made a sweeping gesture with his arms. "Lead the way."

Making sure he had all his gear, Moss shouldered his rifle and jogged away, leaving nothing but a smoldering ruin to indicate he had ever been there.

* * *

1\. Mustang: United States military specific slang referring to a warrant officer or commissioned officer who began his/her career as an enlisted service member

2\. This is a partial quote. The full quote reads as follows: "Courage is doing what you're afraid to do. There can be no courage unless you're scared."  
\- Eddie Rickenbacker, US Army Medal of Honor recipient and America's highest scoring ace of World War I

3\. More specifically, _Police Squad!,_ starring Leslie Nielson. Google "Police Squad Interrogation" if you don't understand the joke.

4\. This is actually a canon drink. It's apparently some type of lemon-lime soda. It made its first appearance in Halo 2. You can read more about it on its article on Halopedia or the Halo wiki.

5\. KAI-A019 is a canon Spartan III. He made his first and only appearance in the live action short, _Birth of a Spartan_ , sitting opposite of Carter in the APC. Not much is known about him, so I figured I would use him as opposed to making another OC.


	10. Chapter 9

To ARandomDeathPenalty: Thank you so much for your review! I am certainly honored you decided to make my story the first story you've ever reviewed!

I'm actually very glad you that. One of my concerns going into this story was whether or not I would be able to write a series of characters with their own distinct personalities, and then whether or not they would be likeable or not. The fact that I was able to makes me really happy so I'm extremely glad you said something. Thanks!

Quick note: There is a torture scene in this chapter. I've made it about as simple and vague as possible because I think if I made it too graphic, I would be in violation of fanfiction's rules, so it shouldn't be any worse than some of the injuries and wounds I've described in the past chapters. With that being said, I'm putting this warning here just in case.

* * *

 **Chapter 9**

Moss sighed in frustration. He felt like he'd been doing that a lot lately, but he couldn't help it. Soon after eliminating the Covenant patrol, Moss had retraced his steps and stumbled across the route the Covenant had been taking before they crossed paths. After a moment of consultation with Tanner, Moss had decided to backtrack along their footsteps. He had figured the Covenant patrol had to have been on their way back to base when they stumbled across him. So his thinking was, if he followed in the same direction the Covenant had come from, he would eventually find the front.

As it turned out though, Moss was completely wrong: rather than returning to their base of operations, the Covenant patrol had just left it. So, rather than making his way to the front, Moss somehow found himself on the outer perimeter of a fully functioning and operational Covenant forward operating base.

"Covies?" Tanner asked as Moss pulled away from his sniper rifle.

"Oh yeah," Moss reported with a wild cackled, causing Tanner to frown at his unprofessionalism, but Moss couldn't help it. He was sick and tired of being stuck out here. He was cold, he was hungry, he still couldn't stop trembling, and the ringing in his ears still hadn't gone away even if it had faded a bit. But the worst bit was, his head was beginning to hurt again. He was fucking dying out here, that much was certain, but he couldn't afford to crack now. So he popped a couple of pain killers and dug into whatever energy reserves he had left to try and focus. It didn't really help.

"How many are there?" Tanner asked.

"A lot," Moss replied with a shrug.

"Specifically?"

Moss gestured at the sniper rifle. "Why you don't take a look yourself Sergeant?" he suggested.

Tanner nodded and Moss rolled to the side to give him some room, doing his best to avoid smacking his head against the side of the bench. They were taking cover in a crashed UH-144 "Falcon" utility helicopter that was perched somewhat precariously on top of a small bridge that spanned over half a dozen railroad tracks. They had initially ducked into this machine in the hopes of find some more weapons when they noticed the Covenant base sitting roughly a hundred and fifty meters down the tracks, at which point they had immediately set up the sniper rifle. For the last few minutes, Moss had been observing the base, trying to figure out what to do next.

Lying on his back and staring at the ceiling, trying to stay awake, Moss waited for Tanner to finish his scan. He knew what Tanner would be seeing. The Covenant FOB was set up at the very end of the train tracks, which terminated at a rail yard, similar to the one he had helped Colonel Menteith capture hours ago, except this one was much larger. Moss couldn't see inside the building, as all the doors were closed, but the defensives the Covenant had set up on the outside gave him some idea of what he was dealing with.

For starters, the Covenant had removed or destroyed all trains and train cars from the tracks, leaving them clear fields of fire. Then, starting at about thirty meters from the front of the train yard, they had set up a roadblock using a series of Guardian Triptych barricades, blocking off the tracks. Set up about ten meters behind that was a line of staggered Covenant portable shields for firing positions and cover.

Closer to the building, set up on the left side of the tracks, was what appeared to be a small armory. Twelve Covenant supply cases were uniformly set up in three rows of four cases each. Most of them appeared to be empty, but a couple of then were filled to the brim with a variety of small arms: plasma rifles, plasma pistols, Needlers, Covenant carbines, the works. The sleek, neon-colored weapons all appeared to be fully charged and fully loaded, ready for immediate usage.

In contrast, directly across from the armory to the right of the tracks sat three unmanned Type-32 Ghost. What they were doing there, Moss couldn't say with any amount of certainty. None of them were active, which would suggest they were undergoing repairs of sorts, but Moss hadn't seen any damage. It was possible they were getting refueled, or recharged, as it were, given that the Covenant used anti-gravity and not hydrogen engines, but the Ghost weren't connected to anything. Whatever the case was, they could potentially be an issue.

Finally, there were the active defenses. Moss hadn't been able to locate any emplacements, which was somewhat surprising, but what the Covenant lacked in mounted turrets, they made up for in infantry. Moss had counted about a platoon's worth of them, mainly Grunts, a small scattering of Skirmishers, and maybe a couple of Elites. The thing that really stuck out to him was the fact that most of them were wearing either jet black or purple armor. Much like the patrol Moss had eliminated, those specific armor colors were reserved for one unit: Covenant Special Operations. Moss had never seen such a large gathering of Covenant Special Forces but then again, he'd never been this far behind enemy lines before so perhaps this was normal? Or perhaps it had something to do with the body he had incinerated?

Whatever the case was, their presence here spelled trouble for him. Moss had been lucky so far, somehow managing to get this close to them, but luck was not something he could depend on. He needed to figure out a way to out of here, now, before he was discovered.

Moss sighed as he glanced around the cabin, wishing this Falcon was still functioning so he could at least fly out of here. But unfortunately, this Falcon was damaged beyond repair: not only had the left wing and prop been blown off, the entire cockpit had been crushed, probably in the crash. At best, this Falcon could be stripped for parts. But realistically, it was probably only fit for the junkyard.

Moss released another whimsical sigh. "God dammit," he muttered.

The sound of an approaching Phantom dropship caused Moss to jump and he instinctively dove for cover, only to collide with the cabin bench, reminding him he already was in cover. He struggled to untangle himself as the Phantom began descending to the ground, disappearing somewhere behind the train yard building. A few minutes later, the Phantom rose up again and quickly departed the area.

Tossing himself behind his sniper rifle, Moss began to scan the base again, trying to figure out what had just happened. The Phantom hadn't been on the ground for too long, ruling out a supply drop. Perhaps someone had been deposited? But who? Moss glanced at the Covenant soldiers, hoping for a clue, only to notice they had all suddenly come alert, as if they had unexpectedly detected something.

Shit, did they somehow spot him? But how?

Before Moss could fully begin to panic though, he noticed the Covenant's attention wasn't focused in his direction, but in the direction of the train yard building. He turned his attention to building just in time to see one of the doors open. From the shadows of the inside emerged –

Solid golden armor. A large curved helmet with a volcano-like ornament protruding from the temple. Angular chest piece and pauldrons, covered in ornamental patterns. A plasma rifle magnetized to the right thigh. And then finally, a deactivated energy sword on the hip.

Moss felt the saliva in his mouth dry up. Shit. That was an Elite Zealot.

Covenant Elite Zealots were some of the best soldiers the Covenant Empire could provide. Highly trained and experienced in all forms of warfare, each individual Zealot was essentially a one alien army. As the cream of the crop, they were issued with the best equipment around. Their personal shields were capable of absorbing massive amounts of firepower, up to and including 102mm high explosive rockets from an M41 SPNKR, and their armor was supposedly made out of warship-grade nanolaminate plating. And if that wasn't enough, Zealots were the Covenant equivalent of a UNSC general, which meant they had entire divisions under their direct command. Also, due to the way Covenant promotions worked, an Elite could only achieve the rank of Zealot after they had personally killed hundreds, if not thousands, of human beings which meant each individual Zealot had not only seen, but survived, thousands of hours of combat. Only Hunters surpassed Zealots in terms of sheer destructive capability and survivability, and that was only because Hunters were essentially biological mechas.

Seeing the Zealot come strolling out of the building, Moss damn near pissed himself. He had never seen one in combat before, but he had heard the stories, read the reports. "Fucked" was almost too gentle of word to describe how Moss would be if he somehow managed to get discovered by that monster.

He was about ready to pack up his sniper rifle and call it quits when he noticed more movement behind the Zealot in the shadows of the buildings. Refocusing his scope, it took Moss a few moments to comprehend what he was seeing: human soldiers. More specifically, _captured_ human soldiers.

Moss could hardly believe what he was seeing. Since when did the Covenant take prisoners? But sure enough, he watched as nearly three dozen humans of both sexes, with their hands on the back of their heads, were led out of the building and into the open. They had all been stripped of their armor, gear, and weapons, and were left standing out in the cold in their fatigues. Their uniforms reflected every single branch of the UNSC military: Air Force, Army, Marines Corps, Navy, Colonial Militia, Provincial Militia, even the fucking Byzas Police Department.

He watched as the POWs were led into an open area in front of the building, where they were positioned into three lines of a dozen people each. Once in position, every single human was forced onto their knees. Jesus fucking Christ, was Moss about to watch a mass execution!?

And then that's when he spotted them. His squad.

Moss was a bit ashamed to admit that aside from Griffin, he hadn't really given his squadmates much thought. In his defense, he had assumed that upon seeing him get blown up by an explosive, his squad would have considered him killed in action and retreated back to friendly lines. He kind of figured they would have already made it back to safety. Clearly, that was not the case. He could see Norén, Poblede, and Roer, all on their knees, looking bruised up and scared out of their minds. In fact, he could see everyone who had taken part in Volkov's ill-fated mission: there was Volkov himself, Captain Rabinowitz, Xanthus, Oshiro, Asoka, Demirci, and all the other surviving infantrymen. Just like everybody else, they had all been disarmed and forced to their knees.

More movement at the entrance of the building drew his attention away from his squad. From the shadows, two Grunts, each carrying some sort of high-tech device, emerged. Walking passed the lines of POWs without a second glance, they deposited the devices in front of everyone. Moss watched with apprehension as both Grunts took a step back. What were those things? Some sort of high-tech executioner's weapon? A torturing machine? Some kind of diabolical cooking device? Or maybe something used to restraint people. But why only two of them? Maybe it generated some sort of stasis field that kept everyone in place, making them easier to execute.

Moss flinched as the two devices activated, and he watched in horror as they split open, revealing themselves to be –

\- an anti-gravity camping stool and table?

Moss scoffed, both out of relief and derision. The Covenant were _so_ high-tech, they refused to sit on a normal chair at a normal table. They _had_ to sit at an anti-gravity one. What the hell. Made Moss wonder how their _high-tech_ minds could tolerate standing and walking on their primitive legs.

Moss fell silent though as the Zealot abruptly stalked forward to the front of the lines and glared at his prisoners. His back was turned towards Moss, so he couldn't see the Elite's face, but Moss could almost imagine the sneering look of disgust and hatred on his face. Moss could imagine it because he could see the same look reflected on the faces of all the humans present though, disarmed and surrounded, there was nothing they could do.

The Zealot thrusted out a scaly hand and pointed directly at Rabinowitz.

" _That one,"_ he growled.

Moss jumped in surprised as he heard the Zealot's guttural voice emerging from the small speaker on the side of his radio. Without thinking, he grabbed it and studied it. How the heck was Moss hearing the Zealot's voice over his radio? Was the Zealot broadcasting somehow? If so, how the heck did he managed to tap into Moss' specific SQUADCOM channel?

Studying his radio, Moss quickly realized it actually wasn't all that complicated. Moss' radio was actually set to the localized general coms frequency, not his specific SQUADCOM channel like he thought. The localized general coms frequency was just a non-encrypted channel that anyone with a UNSC radio could tune into. The idea being, any unit within a small general area who didn't possess the encryption codes to talk on other frequencies, could still coordinate their efforts without having to resort to shouting or sending runners, abet without much radio security. Still, it was pretty useful in a chaotic defense situation such as this one, where units from different military branches could end up occupying the same defensive line. There was probably a radio somewhere down there stuck on transmit, one that Moss' radio had automatically connected to once he came in range. Though, it didn't quite explain how he was able to _understand_ the Elite…

Moss thought about turning his radio off, just in case it gave away his position, but then he decided it would be worth trying to hear what the Covenant were saying. Still, it probably wouldn't be a bad idea to lower the volume. Wishing he still had his headset, Moss lowered the volume on his radio until it was just loud enough he could still hear it over the ringing in his ears, and then awkwardly taped it to his shoulder so he could press his ear against it and hopefully capture most of the noise.

While Moss had been working, the two Grunts that had brought out the table and chair had marched over to Rabinowitz. Punching Rabinowitz in the stomach to make sure he didn't try anything, not that he could with the Zealot standing right there, they grabbed him by his shoulders and dragged him over to the camping stool, forcing him to sit. Perhaps just in an act of defiance, Rabinowitz immediately stood right back up, but for his troubles, he took a fist to the face. The other prisoners started to react, but the Covenant guards quickly raised their weapons and everyone quickly settled. In the meantime, the Grunts were strapping Rabinowitz's hands down to the table with some sort of energy clamps.

For his part, the Zealot ignored the commotion behind him, stalking around to the other side of the table so that he was facing Rabinowitz. Moss tensed up in anticipation as the Zealot leaned forward until he was staring Rabinowitz right in the face. For a moment, Moss thought the Elite was about to stab him, but then the Zealot opened his mouth.

" _You are the insect leading these vermin, yes?_ " the Zealot said, voice full of scorn.

It took Moss a few moments to realize what was going on and if the situation wasn't so serious, Moss would have started laughing. Was this an interrogation? It appeared the Covenant were watching the same films as Moss was. The entire setup was almost cliché in nature: the bare table, the uncomfortable chair, the menacing interrogator. All they needed was a bright white light and a one-way mirror to finish the set. Only, this wasn't the movies. And considering what happened the last time the Covenant took prisoners, Moss was pretty sure there wasn't going to be a happy ending to this story.

Rabinowitz cleared his throat. " _Rabinowitz, Leopold, Captain_ ," he droned. " _78560 dash -_ "

The Zealot backhanded him. Moss winced as Rabinowitz's head snapped to the side, his left cheek turning red as a bruise instantly formed. He nearly slipped off the stool but the clamps prevented him from falling. One of the Grunt's grabbed him and forced him upright.

" _Silence_!" the Zealot roared. " _You will speak only to answer my questions, no more! The honorable Prophets have tasked me with the recovery of your Demons, and I will have them_!"

Rabinowitz laughed. " _Yeah, that's not going to happen,_ " he mumbled through a mouth of broken teeth.

" _You will answer, or your life and the lives of your… companions will be forfeit!"_

" _Our lives have already been forfeited,"_ Rabinowitz snarled. " _There's no way in hell I'm going to cooperate with you, asshole."_

" _You_ _ **will**_ _answer,"_ the Zealot insisted.

Rabinowitz spat at him.

A shocked silence descended on the area as a glob of bloody saliva landed on the Zealot's face. Moss watched with bated breath as the Zealot very slowly, reached up with one clawed hand and wipe the spit away.

" _Your defiance, human, will be your downfall,"_ the Zealot declared, glaring at Rabinowitz.

" _And your arrogance will be yours,"_ Rabinowitz shot back, staring daggers at the Zealot.

The staring contest continued for a few tense seconds before it was abruptly broken when the Zealot started laughing. The sound sent shivers down Moss' spine and he tensed up as the Zealot leaned forward until he and Rabinowitz were almost touching.

" _Foolish human,"_ he announced. _"I will have answers, with or without you."_

Moss gasped as, in one swift motion, the Zealot abruptly whipped out his energy sword and swung it. Rabinowitz let out a mute gurgle as the active blade passed right through his neck as, with an elaborate flourish, the Zealot deactivated the blade and calmly placed the handle back on his hip. Rabinowitz swayed in his seat before his head toppled backwards off his neck, neatly separated by the energy blade, before his body quickly followed suit, the clamps automatically deactivating.

The reaction was almost instantaneous.

"LEO, NO!" Moss heard Volkov scream before he surged upright and smashed into one of the Grunt guards in an attempt to grab the Grunt's plasma pistol. The Grunt had anticipated this attack however, sidestepping Volkov's wild charge and viciously kicking him in the face as Volkov fell. The Grunt leveled his pistol but before he could shoot, Oshiro, who had been kneeling next to Volkov surged upright and nailed the Grunt in the face with a wild haymaker. The Grunt dropped like a stone and Oshiro scrambled for the pistol but then there was a green flash and the Oshiro collapsed, a smoking hole in his chest.

That seemed to be a signal for the rest of the prisoners, and they started to launch themselves upright, however the reaction of the Covenant guards was faster than anyone could have anticipated. Like a wave, they descended on the humans, hitting and punching and swinging what appeared to be stun batons and in less than a few minutes, all the humans had been subdued, and forced back into formation. Even Volkov had been forced back to his knees, tears at the corner of his eyes, his left cheek swelling up from the blow.

Meanwhile, Moss sat there in shock, watching as a couple of Grunts dragged Rabinowitz's and Oshiro's bodies away. He could hardly believe what he had seen. Moss had seen a lot of people get killed in hand to hand combat and had done a fair amount of killing himself. But those had always been done out of desperation, not malice. There had just been something so unsettling about the casually ruthless way the Zealot had executed Rabinowitz.

"Moss, focus!" Tanner hissed and Moss jerked before noticing the Zealot had gestured for one of the other Elite commando's to join him.

" _This is a pointless endeavor,"_ Moss heard the Zealot say in a low voice, low enough that Moss briefly wondered where the radio was but then quickly realizing it didn't matter. _"Kill them all and feed what's left to the Kig-Yar."_

" _But General,"_ the other Elite protested. _"The Minister has -"_

" _I care not what he wishes!"_ the Zealot roared, causing the other Elite to jerk back in alarm. _"We are warriors, not savages! We will find the Demons using our skill and mettle, or die trying! Finish this Commander, so we may resume our hunt!"_

The other Elite hesitated for a moment before bowing his head. He made a gesture with his hand and at once an entire line of Skirmishers leapt forward and leveled their weapons. The Grunt guards hastily scrambled away to clear the line of fire.

"Shit!" Moss swore, raising his sniper rifle and flicked the safety off. He dropped his crosshairs over the back of the Zealot's head and began taking up the slack of the trigger before he realized what he was doing. There was no way he was going to be able to disable that bastards shield's with only two rounds and even if he could, it wouldn't change anything. The only thing shooting would accomplish would be to reveal his position to the Covenant, and then there would be thirty-seven human bodies on the ground as opposed to only thirty-six.

But still, he couldn't just sit here and watch everyone die. Moss casted around, looking for a solution. He spotted a fire extinguisher and an idea began to form, but before he could implement anything, salvation came from the most unlikely source.

" _Stay your hand Commander,"_ a new voice ordered.

Bring his rifle back up to his eye line, Moss looked in the direction of the building in time to see… what the hell was that thing?

It was hard to describe what he was looking at. It was an alien, that much was certain, but one he had never seen or even heard of. For starters, it was very lanky, possessing a frame that was obviously thinner than an Elite or Brute, but not quite as thin as a Jackal. It had two very long arms as well as two hands, each hand possessing three flail-like fingers. The creature had a snake-like neck, making the creature look a bit like a giraffe, a head with two large reptilian eyes, two slits for nostrils, and a small mouth with worm-like lips. The creature also had what appeared to be a small beard, but whether it was hair or skin, it was hard to say. Presumably it had two legs that were just as long as it's arms, but Moss couldn't tell because this creature was sitting in some sort of flying chair. It was wearing some sort of elaborate headdress, and it's body was covered a sort of purple colored robe that, in Moss' opinion, clashed horribly with the alien's light brown skin. The robe also looked to be made out of some sort of fine material, silk or something like that, making it look terribly out of place on the battlefield.

Moss racked his brain, trying to remember if he had ever seen or read about anything matching this creature's description, but he couldn't think of a single article, report, or book describing anything remotely like the thing he was staring at right now. Was there a whole another race of aliens that was part of the Covenant that the UNSC had no idea about? If so, the implications were both very disturbing and very alarming.

What Moss found more intriguing though, wasn't the alien's appearance, but how the other Covenant soldiers reacted to the newcomer: without even waiting for confirmation from any of the Elites, they immediately lowered their weapons. This alien could overrule the Zealot? But, Zealots were supposed to be the top dogs of the Covenant Empire, weren't they?

" _Minister,"_ Moss heard the Zealot call out in greet and he watched as the Zealot bowed in greeting. **Bowing?**

" _Commander, I thought my instructions were very clear,"_ the Minister announced in a gravelly voice. _"Explain yourself."_

" _Your Eminence,"_ the Zealot said. " _I beg your forgiveness, however, my experience in the field of battle had shown me the most optimal way to deal with these insects is to exterminate them as soon as possible. If -"_

" _Commander, your prowess on the battlefield maybe unquestioned, but even_ _ **you**_ _are incapable of speaking to the dead,"_ the Minister interrupted, and Moss could see the Zealot's mandibles grinding, but he said and did nothing. Holy crap. The only time Moss had ever seen an Elite show such servility was to their superiors, and even then, only to their own race. Not even Hunters warranted such respect. Who the heck was this guy? And, was it just this guy that was so high up? Or was it his entire race that was occupying the next link on the chain of command? A link the UNSC had no idea even existed?

As Moss did his best to remember the details of this encounter, the Zealot had continued to try and justify his actions.

" _Your Eminence, I mean no disrespect, but this is a matter for the military, not diplomacy."_

" _And what has the military achieved so far?"_ the Minister interrupted. Again. Holy crap. _"You have had hours, Commander, and what have you to show for it? Dozens of our finest warriors, killed. Dozens more that could be used elsewhere diverted for this search. Yet, I do not see any Demons groveling at my feet. Nor do I even see their corpses. The Hierarchs grow impatient Commander, and so do I."_

" _Minister, I swear by my honor I shall deliver the Demons as promised. However, I need more time,"_ the Zealot begged but the Minister silenced him with a dismissive wave of his hand.

" _No. You have had your chance Commander. It is time for another."_

The Minister gestured towards the building, and a Brute Stalker emerged. Oh great. That's just what they needed. A representative of the other most powerful race in the Covenant. Of course, Moss wasn't the only one who wasn't exactly pleased to see the Brute.

" _You dare insult my honor by bring this… this… Brute to my camp?"_ the Zealot roared.

" _Silence, Commander,"_ the Minister harshly barked. _"You have insulted your own honor, by failing to bring me results. Perhaps in the future, you will be more vigilant in your tasks."_

Moss could see the Zealot literally quivering in rage, but he kept silent. The Brute, on the other hand, Moss heard him left out a laugh and then say something, but he spoke in his native language so Moss couldn't understand it, but clearly the Elites could because everyone single one of them whirled on him, and there were definitely some twitchy trigger fingers. However, the Minister raised one hand, and immediately they all stood down.

Moss was flabbergasted. He was beginning to wish he still had his helmet so he could have recorded all this. This was something the likes of ONI or INSCOM needed to see.

" _Captain,"_ the Minister called out, drawing the attention of the Brute. _"Begin your task."_

" _Yes your Eminence,"_ the Brute eagerly said, with a bow of his head. _"Your Eminence, whom shall I begin with?"_

" _Start with the female,"_ the Minister ordered, pointing with one of his stick-like fingers. Pointing directly at Poblede.

Ah shit.

Two Grunts marched forward and grabbed Poblede by the shoulders. Moss could see her eyeing them both, and he knew she was weighing her options, but unfortunately there wasn't much she could do so she decided to conserve her strengthen and let them take her without struggling. The Grunts marched her over to the same chair Rabinowitz had been killed in, still stained with his blood, and forced her down.

" _Before we begin Captain,"_ the Minister announced as the Grunt's forced Poblede's hands onto the table and clamping them into place. _"Boost the radio signal. I want all the humans still scurrying around in the dirt like the insects they are to hear what fate befalls them if they continue to resist our righteous journey."_

The Brute nodded and then reached down to the side of the gravity table and pulled out a standard AN/PRC650C small radio set. Ah. So that's how Moss was hearing everything. The Covenant were deliberately broadcasting everything, probably for propaganda purposes.

Moss watched with bated breath as the Brute fiddled with a couple of knobs before stalking over to Poblede. But instead of moving to the other side of the table like the Zealot did, the Brute instead walked over to Poblede. As he towered over her, he abruptly bent over and took a giant whiff of her hair.

" _Human,"_ the Brute said in a creepy voice as he exhaled directly into Poblede's face. Moss could see Poblede turn away in both disgust and fear. _"I have questions. You will answer them. Or else,"_ the Brute threatened, pulling out a wicked looking knife that looked more like a small sword than a knife.

Poblede nervously eyeing the knife but didn't say anything.

" _The Demons,_ " the Brute began. _"Where are you heathens hiding them?"_

Moss could see Poblede blink in confusion and truth be told, Moss was in the same boat. This was the fifth time the Covenant had mentioned the word "Demon," but this was the first time Moss bothered to actually wonder what that actually meant. What the hell were they talking about? Moss knew the Covenant were all a bunch of religious fanatics, but somehow he didn't think they were looking for a red humanoid with horns, a forked tail, and an inclination for fiery pits. He knew there were a number of Army units who used the term "demon" or "devil" as their nicknames, but the context the word was getting used in made it sound like individuals, not entire divisions.

Poblede licked her lips, and then said _"Poblede, Piper. Corporal. 64783 dash 15809 dash papa papa."_

" _Last chance human. Where are the Demons?"_

She visibly swallowed, and Moss could see sweat rolling down her forehead. Nevertheless, all she said was, _"Poblede, Piper. Corporal. 64783 dash 15809 dash papa papa."_

The Brute grinned.

Moss jumped as Poblede let out a blood-curling scream as the Brute swung his knife down. As Poblede jerked away, Moss could see the pinkie on her left hand had been neatly severed at the knuckle. Blood gushed out from the stump, forming a pool on the table before dripping down the side, turning the snow red. Poblede writhed in pain and tried to pull away but the clamps holding down her hands held fast. Some of the other prisoners screamed and gasped, but Moss didn't take notice as he could barely see through the tears in his eyes. Then the Brute positioned the knife over Poblede's ring finger.

" _Where are the Demons!"_ the Brute roared.

Despite the pain she must have been feeling, and the fear and the tears, Poblede remained defiant. " _FUCK YOU!"_ she yelled back, her voice laced with hatred. _"Poblede, Piper, Corporal. 64783 dash -"_

The Brute swung the knife again, and Poblede let out another scream of pain as her ring finger was separated from the rest of her hand.

" _The Demons. Where are they!?"_ the Brute roared, positioning the knife over her next finger.

" _GO TO HELL!"_ Poblede screamed. _"Poblede, Piper, Corporal -"_

The Brute smiled, revealing his massive canine teeth and began pressing down on the knife. This time, instead of cutting right through, he began sawing through. Poblede screamed and squirmed in her seat as she tried to escape the pain, but her clamps held her fast.

" _Let her go you son of a bitch!"_ Moss heard someone scream and he turned to see Demirci, a horrified look on his face, start to rise up but a Grunt guard punched him in the face, knocking him down. The Brute paused in his cutting to point the bloody knife at him.

" _Patience human!"_ he barked. " _Your turn will come! Once I have finished flaying the flesh off her bones, you will be next!"_ With that, he resumed his work.

Moss found he just couldn't continue watching. He was gripping his rifle so tightly, his knuckles were turning white and he was trembling so much from suppressed rage he couldn't see straight. He had to do something.

"What are you doing Moss?" Tanner hissed as Moss began lining up his shot.

"I got to do something Sergeant!" Moss snapped. "I just can't sit here and watch this!"

"Think about what you're doing Sergeant," Tanner said harshly. "Even if you kill that Brute, nothing is going to change. You think that… that thing down there is just going to stop if you kill his Brute? No, he'll just get that fucking Zealot to continue, only instead of Pip, he'll be torturing you instead!"

"I'm not leaving her!"

"I didn't say that! But you got to do this the smart way! You got to figure out a way to get everyone into the fight, otherwise, you're all just going to get picked off one by one!"

Moss let out a frustrated sob, but he know Tanner was right. He had to get the rest of the prisoners involved, but without weapons, they didn't stand a chance. If they could only get some guns from that Covenant armory… but the guards would cut them down before they could get close. Moss had to find some way to distract the guards. An explosion would probably work, but with artillery booming non-stop in the distance, it would have to be a pretty close explosion for them to take notice. If there was only some way to transport his blocks of C-12 from his position, to the Covies position, but there was just no… way…

Moss suddenly realized that didn't have to be true. Strapped under the Falcon bench, there was one of those large, nine kilogram, six liter fire extinguishers for in the event there was a fire inside the cabin. Typically, the chemicals inside those extinguishers were kept under pressure; a lot of pressure. If there was just some way Moss could channel that pressure, he could potential hurtled his explosives closer to the Covenant bases than he could throw. Then he spotted the rails.

To prevent cars from accidently driving off the bridge, the sides of the bridge were lined with concrete parapets. Mounted to the top of the parapets were long stretches of cylindrical, metal hand rails. When the Falcon had crashed, it had knocked some sections off their post, allowing Moss to see that the rails were about ten centimeters in diameter and, more importantly, **hollow.** Suddenly, he knew what to do.

Moss quickly emptied his backpack and grabbed his remaining blocks of C-12. Tearing off the plastic wrap that protected them, he quickly smashed them and then rolled them together like they were clay until he had formed a ball. Setting it on the ground, he darted out of the Falcon and looked around until he found a bolt from the handrail that was about the right size. Grabbing his fire extinguisher, he snapped off the pressure gauge by hitting it with the butt of his rifle, then jammed the bolt it until it was tight to prevent any of the pressure from escaping. Running back into the Falcon, Moss ripped out all the flammable material he could find, before tossing them into a small crater that had been blasted into the bridge deck. Setting the extinguisher upright on the material, Moss ran around until he found a broken section of railing about a meter long. Shoving his ball of explosives into one end, Moss took the railing and placed it on top of the extinguisher so that the top of the extinguisher was sticking in the same end as the explosives before taping everything down. Angling it so the railing was pointed in the direction of the Covenant, Moss used the last bit of his tape and some wire he ripped out of the Falcon to make sure it didn't move. Finally, he took his last flare and used it to ignite the material the extinguisher was sitting on.

As the fire burned and the heat began to build in the extinguisher, Moss grabbed his weapons and prepared himself for combat. Placing the barrel of his sniper rifle in between the lower handrail and the top of the parapet, which was just tall enough Moss was able to put himself behind the sniper rifle in a sitting position, Moss grabbed his battle rifle and checked the magazine. He had twelve rounds left, which wasn't much. He had to make it work though because otherwise, he and all the other human soldiers in the Covenant base were dead.

Unscrewing the suppressor, because it would serve him better not to have it on, Moss propped it up against the parapet so that it was within arm's reach. Putting his earplugs in, Moss planted the stock of the sniper rifle firmly against his shoulder, hunched forward, and waited.

While Moss had been working, the Brute had finished removing Poblede's middle finger, as well as the index finger on her left hand. However, the pain must have been too much for her because she appeared to have passed out. While the Brute worked on slapping her awake, the unknown alien had evidently now was an excellent time to start preaching.

" _Humans, all your lives are forfeit!"_ the Minister declared. _"The Gods demand it, as punishment! For your hearsay! But you need not suffer! We, the children of the Gods, are merciful! Surrender now, and your deaths will be swift and painless! For those Heathens who chose to resist our righteous task! For those who chose to be obstacles on our Great Journey! I say to you! This,"_ he yelled, dramatically pointed a finger at Poblede, _"is the fate that will befall upon you!"_

"Keep on talking motherfucker," Moss muttered under his breathe, trying to bring his fury under control. "We'll see who will get a swift and painless death in a few minutes." He glanced at his fire to make sure it was still burning as down below, Poblede abruptly came to.

Jerking awake, she sputtered and reflexively tried to pull away, but the clamps prevented her from going far. Clearly in a daze, she looked around, only for the Brute to grab her head and force her to look forward. As he did, the Minister hovered closer and the leaned in until he and Poblede were almost touching heads.

" _My child. It pains me to see you like this,"_ he told her, his voice dripping with false sincerity. _"But you must understand: what is transpiring here is merely the result of your transgressions against the Gods. I am merely their avatar. But fear not! Not all is lost, for the Gods are merciful. Even for a pathetic creature such as yourself, the Gods allow redemption. All you must do is tell me where the Demons have hidden themselves."_

Moss could see Poblede's eyes roll up until she was staring eye to eye with the Minister.

" _I have no_ _ **fucking**_ _idea, what the fuck you are talking about,"_ Poblede finally admitted.

The fake sympathetic look on the Minister's face melted away, leaving an expression of cold hard arrogance. _"Humans. Like insects, you scurry around in the dirt, content to stay in the darkness, ignorant of the hand that attempts to save you. You think your continual defiance means you are strong? It is nothing but an illusion. Captain, you may continue."_

The Brute grinned and planted the knife on her thumb, but as he started to cut into the digit, Poblede suddenly began sobbing. _"Wait wait wait!"_ she yelled out. _"Alright! I'll fucking tell you!"_

Moss snapped his head around, and stared at her face, wondering what the hell she was doing. He was pretty sure she had no idea what the hell was going or who the demons the Minister kept yapping on about were so… what the heck was she planning? But she showed nothing on her face but absolute fear and apprehension. He glanced back at his fire. He could hear air being released the pressure built up inside the extinguisher, but it clearly hadn't gotten hot enough for it to rupture. He willing for it to hurry up.

" _Where are they?"_ the Minister demanded to know.

" _I'll tell you!"_ Poblede frantically said. _"Just tell this Brute to back off!"_

" _No, you will tell me, or you will suffer,"_ the Minister insisted. He gestured at the Brute who lifted his knife.

" _Okay okay!"_ Poblede yelled. _"The Demons!"_

" _Yes?"_ the Minister eagerly asked.

" _They're_ _upyourass_ _."_ Poblede mumbled something that Moss couldn't pick up.

" _What was that?"_ the Minister asked, leaning forward.

" _I said 'they're up your ass!'"_ Poblede yelled before launching herself forward and grabbing the Minister's beard between her teeth. The Minister screamed in pain as Poblede bit down hard enough to draw blood, thus proving the alien's beard was made of skin, not hair. Moss resisted the urge to cheer but fortunately none of the other prisoners had that restriction because everyone else started yelling jeers and words of encouragement as the Grunt guards leapt forward and began jabbing Poblede with their stun batons until Poblede was forced to let go.

Poblede slumped back in her seat, laughing uproariously as the Minister frantically planted a hand on his wound, trying to stem the bleeding. The Zealot rocketed forward, as if to help, but the Minister quickly shoved him away.

" _You!"_ the Minister shrieked, pointing a shaking finger at Poblede. _"I have been merciful! I have been patient! And this is the thanks I have received? You… you… savage! Barbarian! Captain!"_

The Brute quickly snapped to attention.

" _I want you to kill her!"_ the Minister ordered. " _Kill her in the most painful way possible! So that she may be an example to all those who shun our gracious hand!"_

The Brute's mouth split open in a wide grin and he slammed his knife into the table. As he reached for Poblede with his bare hands, Poblede dodged him long enough for her to look the Minister directly in the eye and declare, " _I'm not going to be the only to die. Your Great Journey begins today asshole!"_

As if on cue, the pressure in the fire extinguisher finally reached a breaking point and the canister exploded with a loud _BANG!_ Most of the energy was released to the sides, but enough was forced upwards to launch the ball of C-12 through the air. Moss quickly tracked it and watched as the ball fly up and away until it crashed into the ground about five meters away from the first Ghost. Moss was impressed because a, he didn't actually think this would work and b, if it did, he didn't actually think it would go that far. But Moss was never one to look a gift in a horse's mouth.

Moss took a deep breath through his nose and released it slowly through his mouth. He did it again as the Covenant all reflexively turned to see what the commotion was about.

" _Shit, HIT THE DECK!"_ Moss heard one of the human's scream and, glad someone was paying attention, exhaled one more time. But this time, as his lungs emptied of all oxygen, he squeezed the trigger.

 _BOOM._

The 59.7 gram 14.5mm high-explosive incendiary round left the muzzle of Moss' sniper rifle at a little under one thousand meters per second. By the time Moss felt the recoil from its departure, the bullet had already crossed the full distance, cutting right through the ball of C-12 and impacting the concrete underneath it, ignited the high-explosive material inside the bullet tip. There was a small flash, barely visible to the naked eye, as the projectile exploded, but it was quickly overshadowed as the C-12 **erupted.**

 _KABOOOOMMM!_

Being the objects closest to ground zero, the lightly armored open topped Ghost reconnaissance vehicles absorbed most of the blast, which heavily damaged, if not outright destroyed, all three of them. The shockwave though ripped through the open land with enough force to knock everyone still standing, which at this point was only the Covenant, to the ground. The blast also knocked out all the power to the anti-gravity camping stool and table, including the energy clamps that were keeping Poblede pinned down. She reacted instantly.

Grabbing the knife the Brute had left in the table top with her good hand, she slammed the blade into one of the Brute's eyes, hitting the pommel with her palm to drive it in even further. The Brute screamed in pain and stumbled back, and Poblede swept her leg forward, knocking the Brute to the ground. As the Brute fell, she ripped the knife out of his eye socket, taking the eye with her, and hurtled it at the Minister.

The blade spun through air and Moss could see the shocked expression on the alien's face, but just as the blade was about to connect, a golden armored clad arm was thrust in its path. The knife hit the vambrace on the Zealot's arm, halting its forward motion, which then clattered harmlessly to the ground. The Zealot shot Poblede a bone-chilling glare before roaring out a challenge and charged straight at her, bowling the deactivated table out of the way. Poblede tried to dodge but was unable to as the Zealot grabbed her by the shoulder and hauled her off her feet. With his free hand, he grabbed his energy sword.

"VERMIN!" he roared. "YOU WILL PAY FOR YOUR SINS!"

Poblede kicked him but her armored boot just bounced off his chest as he activated his sword. But before he could run her through, an overcharge plasma shot hit him in the side, causing his shields to flare. His shields were too strong to be disable by something like that, however the shot did startle him enough that he accidently dropped Poblede, who immediately scrambled away on her hands and knees.

Moss tracked the shot back to its source to see Demirci, a dead Grunt at his feet and a stolen plasma pistol in his hand.

"CORPORAL, RUN!" he screamed but before his plasma pistol could cool down, the Zealot whipped out his plasma rifle and shot Demirci once in the stomach, who immediately collapsed.

The Zealot began lining up a shot on Poblede but as he pulled the trigger, Asoka appeared out of nowhere and tackled him, knocking the Zealot to the ground, causing the shot to get blasted into the sky. As Poblede made her escape, Asoka began pummeling the Zealot in the face. He managed to get several hits in before the Zealot managed to shove him off. Scrambling to his feet, the Zealot started reaching for his sword, but Moss had no intention of allowing him to do so. He quickly lined up his last shot and -

 _CLICK._

"Shit!" Moss yelped.

Moss immediately smacked the bottom of his magazine a couple of time and tried to yanking back on the charging handle, only to find the bolt was stuck in the forward position. Desperate, Moss pulled back on the handle, even grabbing it with both hands, but it refused to budge.

"Moss! Pick up your rate of fire!" Tanner hollered at him.

"I'm jammed!" Moss warned.

"God dammit Soldier, get your fucking rifle back in this fight right fucking now!"Tanner screamed at him.

"I'm trying!" Moss screamed right back, pulling back on the charging handle with all his might but it refused to move. "Bitch! Son of a bitch!"

In desperation, Moss removed the rifle from the parapet. Keeping a firm grip on the handguard with one hand and gripping the charging handle with the other, Moss lifted the rifle over his head and slammed the buttstock on the ground, mortaring his rifle. The bolt immediately sprang free and his last sniper rifle round spat out the chamber, landing in a pile of rubble and promptly disappeared.

"Oh fuck!" Moss yelped, dropping the sniper rifle and immediately began digging through the rebar and chunks of concrete. "Fuck fuck fuck!"

Ignoring the cuts and scratches the sharp material was leaving in his palms, he continued to dig through the pile, desperately looking for his last round.

"Moss! Get back in the fucking fight!" Tanner howled. "They're fucking getting killed down there, they need cover fire, now!"

" **FUCK!"** Moss screamed at the top of his lungs, more pissed at himself than he had ever been. " **MOTHERFUCKER**!"

Abandoning his search, Moss kicked the now useless sniper rifle to the side and picked up his battle rifle, scanning the scene below him. A large amount of human prisoners had managed to make it among the Covenant supply cases and grabbed some of the weapons stockpiled there. They were now engaged in a pitch firefight with the remaining Covenant. Using the supply cases as cover, they were laying down heavy amounts of fire on the Covenant soldiers, who were stuck out in the open. The Zealot and his Elite officers were attempting to organize a defense, but they didn't have too many options available to them. However, it was clear to Moss that was going to change very quickly as an alarm had gone off and Moss could see dozens of Covenant infantry come pouring out of the building. The humans needed an exit, otherwise they were going to get overrun in a short order. Fortunately, Moss had a plan.

Propping his battle rifle in the same spot the sniper rifle had occupied, Moss carefully scanned the ground below him, looking for Norén. He found her, crouched behind an overturned supply case, looking like she was giving a quick tutorial to a couple of soldiers on how to fire a plasma pistol. Aiming carefully, as to avoid hitting her, Moss fired a couple of rounds over her head.

Moss saw her reflexively ducking, before a look of realization appeared on her face. She poked her head up and turned to face in Moss' direction. Then she began screaming, gesturing widely in Moss' direction. At once, several soldiers rose up and began running towards him.

Moss let out a mute sigh of relief. He had vaguely remembered Norén mentioning something about having enough combat experience as an Innie to determine what direction she was getting shot from, and he was glad to see that still held true. Relieved that the humans now knew to run in his direction, Moss made ready to provide them with some covering fire.

Mindfully of his paltry supply of ammo, Moss made sure to pick his targets carefully. His first target was one of the many Jackals dashing out of the building. Dropping the reticle of his A2 scope over the Jackal's chest, Moss fired, punching a hole right in the Jackal's heart. The Jackal instantly collapsed, purple blood gushing out of his wound and Moss nodded in satisfaction. One down, many more to go.

Moss instantly switched targets, aiming his rifle at one of the Elites. As he watched, the Elite was struck by an overcharge plasma shot, disabling his shields. Doing his best to compensate for the drop, Moss fired, catching the Elite right in the thigh. The Elite reflexively grabbed his wounded leg, and Moss quickly shot him again. His second round hit the Elite right over his spine; the round failed to penetrate the armor, but the impact was still strong enough to fracture, if not outright break, the Elite's backbone and he collapsed to the ground. Good enough.

Spotting a Grunt running up with a fuel road cannon, Moss dropped his crosshairs over the Grunt's chest and fired. The round shattered the Grunt's armor, but the bullet must have hit a non-vital organ because the Grunt continued to charge forward, his free hand covering his wound. Moss was about to plant another round into the Grunt's brain, but then one of the airman spotted him and the riddled the Grunt with a dozen shots from his Needler. The Grunt exploded in a gory mess and Moss couldn't help but grin at the sight. It was nice not to be on the receiving end for once.

Moss quickly scanned for another target, but then suddenly he noticed Roer.

Unlike everyone else who were slowly making their way towards Moss' position, Roer was just sitting there behind one of the supply cases. Nor was he actually fighting, not having armed himself yet. Puzzled, Moss focused on his face and noticed Roer looked to be on verge of tears. Roer's hands were trembling and Moss could see his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he nervously swallowed. At first Moss thought Roer was having a panic attack, but then he noticed Roer kept casting furtive glances at everyone else, and then at point off in the opposite direction, as if he was trying to make up his mind about something. Then his face abruptly hardened, and he took off running in the opposite direction everyone else was.

Where the fuck -

Moss pointed his rifle in the direction Roer was headed. It was away from the Covenant base, but he couldn't see anything out there. But then, he suddenly recalled a map of the area. More specifically, Moss recalled a spot on the map Roer had marked.

And just like that, Moss realized where Roer was headed. Realized Roer had made his choice. That his duty to his family was more important than his duty to his people. In many ways, Moss couldn't fault him for that. But Moss also realized -

This was the last time he was ever going to Roer again.

"Goodbye Cliff," Moss whispered, then turned his rifle back to the Covenant and started picking out targets.

By his count, he had six rounds left. Keeping that in mind, Moss started looking for targets he knew for certain he could hit. A Skirmisher leapt to the top of a supply cases and immediately gunned down the airman below him. There.

Moss inhaled, then slowly exhaled.

 _BANG!_

The Skirmisher collapsed with a new hole in his lung. Five rounds left.

Moss spotted a Grunt who was trying to set up a plasma turret. He adjusted his aim, then exhaled.

 _BANG!_

He accidently hit the turret, but the bullet ricochet off the housing and slammed into the Grunt's gut. Meh. Good enough for government work. Four rounds left.

Moss scanned for another target, but the Covenant had worked out where he was shooting from, and they quickly began returning fire. Moss flinched as a couple spikes slammed into the handrail in front of him with a loud _ping_ _!_

Ducking and shifting to the side, Moss tracked the source and noticed Jackal snipers were getting deployed onto the top of the building. He spotted the Jackal who had shot at him, who was currently scanning the bridge with his needle rifle looking for Moss. Moss snapped his rifle up, exhaled, and lightly squeezed the trigger.

 _BANG!_

The Jackal started screaming in pain as he lift his shooting hand, two of his three fingers having been shot off and the third one was hanging off his hand by a couple strains of flesh. Three rounds left.

Another Jackal quickly drew his attention. The Jackal had a beam rifle and was running for the edge of the rooftop. Moss sighted him and squeezed the trigger.

 _CLICK!_

…Oh crap.

Moss quickly flipped the rifle and checked the ejection port to make sure nothing was stuck before palming the charging handle to double check the bolt had closed all the way. Smacking the bottom of his magazine a couple of times, he yanked back on the charging handle and ejected the dud round.

Fuck, two rounds left.

Snarling in irritation, Moss re-sighted the Jackal sniper. The Jackal had made it to the parapet and was setting up his beam rifle, so Moss quickly shot at him.

 _BANG!_

He missed the Jackal, but he could see sparks flying as the round hit the beam rifle, disabling it and sending the Jackal scurrying for cover. Last round.

He scanned the ground for a target, but then noticed that damn Zealot was looking right at him, a concussion rifle in hand. Uh oh.

Moss dove to the side as the Zealot fired. Three consecutive concussion blasts slammed into the parapet, blowing a hole and throwing shards of concrete in all direction. Moss screamed in pain as his battered body was nailed again with shrapnel, and while none of it penetrated, the blast pretty much destroyed what was left of his armor.

Moss leaped up, rifle at the ready, and fired one last time at the Zealot.

 _BANG!_

Moss felt the bolt lock back as the bullet sped towards the Zealot, but struck nothing but concrete as the Zealot had already moved.

Tossing the battle rifle away, Moss dove for the ground as the Zealot reloaded and returned fire. He frantically crawled away on his hands and knees as explosions rippled the parapet wall behind him. As he scrambled to clear the bridge, Moss' hand closed over something round and smooth and looked down to see -

\- the 14.5mm round he had lost.

Moss quickly poked his head over the parapet. The Zealot was in the middle of a reload, meaning Moss had a small window to escape. At the same time, the SRS99-AMQC sniper rifle was sitting within arm's reach and now he had a round for it.

Moss shrugged and grabbed the rifle. What the hell. You only live once, right?

Popping the round directly into the chamber and slamming the bolt closed, Moss hefted the rifle and aimed at the Zealot, but then noticed an even better target. That damn Minister, the one that had ordered that Poblede be tortured and mutilated, was still hovering around in his floating chair. A lance of Jackals had emerged from the building and deployed their shields in formation around him, protecting him during the firefight, but instead of retreating for cover, like an idiot the Minister had stayed around to watch the fighting. And now the fighting had started to die down, the Minister was sticking his enormous neck over the shield wall to see what was going on.

Stinking aliens. Moss pulled the trigger.

He had originally only intended to make the Minister pay for his arrogance, figuring the round would get deflected by the Minister's personal shield, and thus was completely caught off guard when the bullet caught the Minister right between the eyes. Imparting a little over 32,000 joules of energy upon impact, the Minister's head and neck were removed from his shoulders as the bullet passed right through without slowing down or deflecting, continuing on its path until it stuck a Jackal standing behind him in the lower back, literally cutting the Jackal in half. As the Minister's headless corpse swayed in his seat, an almost comical amount of red blood began gushing from the stump, reminding Moss of how it look each time one of Pip's fingers were cut off, and he felt a grin creep over his face over the thought of how karmatic it was.

Almost as one, every single Covenant soldier turned to gape as the Minister's body toppled off his chair, landing on the ground with a mute _splat._ Then the screaming started.

" **HUMAN!"** Moss heard the Zealot bellowed in rage as he toss the sniper rifle away and booked it.

Behind him, he could hear just about every single gun going off, saturating his sniper's perch with plasma and needler fire, but Moss was already gone.

The Zealot's cries and promises of vengeance echoed behind him as he disappeared into the city.

* * *

General Notes:

I'm pretty sure the trick with the fire extinguisher wouldn't work in real life. Nevertheless, _**don't try it at home**_ _._ I can't say for certain what would happen, but I imagine it wouldn't exactly be conducive to your health.

For those of you who might not have understood my description, the "Minister" character in this chapter is a San'Shyuum a.k.a, a Prophet, which made their first in-game appeared with the release of _Halo 2_ and the introduction of the Covenant Hierarchs: the Prophet of Regret, the Prophet of Mercy, and the Prophet of Truth. For some reason, I have it in my mind that the UNSC was not aware of the existence of the Prophet race until about 2550, at which point they began planning Operation: Red Flag _,_ the operation the Spartan II teams were to undertake hours before the invasion of Reach, as depicted in the novel _Halo: The Fall of Reach._ I feel like I read that in a book or heard about in one of the games, but I cannot remember for the life of me which one. Nor can I find any evidence on Halopedia or the Halo Wiki definitively stating whether this is true or not.

I supposed with this being fanfiction, it doesn't really matter if my memory is correct or not. However, in the event that I misremembered, and in fact, the UNSC did know about the Prophet race in 2545, my explanation for why Moss didn't recognize the Minister for what he was would be this:

As a junior NCO in a regular, frontline combat unit, Moss was only concerned about the races and weapons that he could expect to encounter on the battlefield. As the entire Prophet race occupied all the political and religious leadership roles of the Covenant Empire, it was doubtful he would ever see a Prophet in combat. So he never bother reading up on them.

It's not the best explanation, I know, but it's what I got. If anyone does know for certain whether or not the UNSC knew about the Prophets in 2545, let me know please. Otherwise, I hope you enjoyed and I'll see you all in the next chapter.


	11. Chapter 10

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far. I don't think I've said it enough, but you guys are awesome. I actually want to make a confession here: I didn't originally plan on posting this story. The subject matter of this story, the way things are written, and the way events are portrayed here are the things I've wanted to see in a Halo fiction. But, judging by the other stories posted in this section, what I wanted to see wasn't really what the vast majority of other readers wanted. In fact, the only real reason why I continued to write this fanfic was because, like I stated in my author's note for the prologue, I _really_ wanted to finish a full story. But the more I wrote, the more I kind of figured: why not go ahead and post it? I mean, what would the worst case scenario be? No one read it? Well, no one was going to read it if it was hidden on my computer's hard drive, so what exactly would the difference be? At least by posting it, there was a _chance_ that somebody would stop by and enjoy what I wrote. And, wasn't that worth it?

So that fact that there have been multiple people who have not only taken the time to read the work I've done, but also leave their thoughts, is unbelievably amazing to me. I truly appreciate all the time and thought you guys have put into your reviews, no matter how big or small they may be, and while they might not seem like much to you, it certainly means a lot to me. Especially you Broman. It might be presumptuous of me to say, but I think you're the reviewer that every writer wants: someone who not only reads, but interacts with the story.

Anyways, my hope and my dream is that I can continue to write good quality chapters that everyone will enjoy. So, fingers crossed…

* * *

 **Chapter 10**

Moss quickly trudged through the snow, following in his companions' footsteps and the trail of depleted plasma weaponry they had left behind. He was moving as fast as his injuries would allow, trying to catch up, but the group must have been running away at top speeds because he'd been following them for nearly seven minutes now and he had yet to even catch sight of them in the distance. Moss had to be honest with himself: the fact they hadn't even bothered to wait for him pissed him off to no end.

The more rational part of his mind knew he was being unreasonable. When his fellow service members had been captured, it was clear the Covenant had not only confiscated all weapons and armor, but also all communications gear. Because of that, outside of shooting at them, Moss had no method of conferring with them to establish a rally point. Truth of the matter was, they probably didn't even know they were supposed to be waiting for anybody.

Unfortunately, Moss was not in the mood to be reasonable. He had just saved their asses; was it too much to ask that they fucking wait for him?

Moss never wanted to be thought of as one of those self-entitled pricks that his generation seemed to be filled with, but he didn't think he was being completely unreasonable if he asked that the people he just risked life and limb to rescue show him a bit of gratitude for his efforts. Even if the rescue was by happenstance, and not by meticulous planning on his part. That's not to say if he had to do it all over again, he would have done things differently. He would have still rescued them, if only because he could use the backup.

And that was another thing that was pissing him off. He was getting sick and tired of this "lone-wolf" crap. Some people took to it like a fish in water, but Moss wasn't one of those guys. Seriously, in all his childhood daydreams and fantasies, he was never the guile hero or the top ace or even the unstoppable war machine. He always figured himself as the sidekick, standing off to the side, watching the hero's back as he rescued the world once again from villain number seven, ready to jump in with a helping hand and a sarcastic remark. Yet, here he was, doing the job the damn hero should have been doing.

Fine then. If Moss was the hero of this story, then where was his sidekick to watch his back, ready to jump in with a helping hand and a sarcastic remark? Seriously, that was one of the reasons why he joined the Army in the first place: so he could be part of a team that would help and support each other. Wasn't that one of the main selling points brought up in just about every single UNSC Army recruitment commercial he saw growing up? 'Be part of the greatest team in the galaxy?' Apparently not.

And another thing he joined the Army for was logistics. The UNSC Army was supposed to have one of the best logistical support trains out of all the other government and corporate organizations in existence. Yet, here he was, making improvised weapons out fire extinguishers and freaking microwaves like he was part of some damn Separatist group! If Moss really wanted to jump into battle with nothing more than a couple of sticks and a rock, one that he would have to share with his entire platoon no less, he would have enlisted in the Marine Corps! Call him spoiled, but Moss really wanted his SAW back. Or his rifle. Hell, anything was better than this shitty M7 SMG he was carrying that only had fifteen rounds left.

Of course, if his wishes really could come true, then he would be wishing for the support of an entire Armored Division. But, they couldn't, so Moss wasn't.

Distracted as he was, Moss completely missed seeing the dead body lying in the middle of the road, only noticing it when he tripped over it. Hitting the ground, Moss scrambled upright and immediately attempted to execute a combat roll into cover, only to realize he had completely misjudged the distance, with safety being further than he could reach with just a single roll. All he managed to accomplish with his fancy moves was to make himself completely dizzy, and look like a total idiot. Being still stuck out in the open, Moss was forced to climb to his feet and awkwardly run to cover, which was something he probably should have just led with.

Diving into a shot-up car parked on the side of the road, Moss brought his SMG to bear, looking for contacts. None appeared, and after a few minutes, Moss felt stupid. If any Covenant were around, they probably would have shot him when he was rolling around on the ground like a damn monkey. Then again, they might have missed him because they had been laughing their heads off at his antics, and were now waiting for him to poke his head out of cover like an amateur so they could remove it. Of course, by this point, Moss was beginning to wonder if death was as bad as people seemed to make it. Honestly, it seemed kind of relaxing. After all, he never heard a dead man complain about it.

Fuck it.

Crawling out of the car, Moss walked over to the body and took a knee. When he didn't immediately get shot, he shrugged and began studying the corpse in front of him.

It was one of the soldiers from the Covenant base. Moss could tell because the only thing the man was wearing was his fatigues. That and, the trail of footprints led right up to his corpse. He had been killed by a single shot to the chest; there was a single, five to five and a half centimeter wide hole centered right over the man's heart. No blood though, as the wound had been instantly cauterized. Moss recognized the work of a beam rifle and he grimaced. Not a fun way to go out, but at least death was pretty much instantaneous.

There was no identification on the man. His dog tags had been destroyed when he'd been shot through the heart, so that meant he had been running when he was killed. The exit wound was a straight run from the entrance wound, so that meant the shooter had been on the ground because if he had been anywhere else, the cavity caused by the energy beam would have been angled. The group had probably run into a Covenant patrol on its way back to reinforce the base, though the patrol must have engaged from some distance away because Moss couldn't see any of the Covenant's footprints in the snow. Nor could he see any plasma scoring indicating an exchange of gunfire.

There was a discarded Needler lying on the ground next to man. Holstering his SMG, Moss picked the Needler and looked it over. Thanks to Lancelot, Moss liked to think he had more than a cursory knowledge on how to operate just about every single small arms weapon in the UNSC arsenal, but the operation of Covenant weapons was beyond him. The Army did not train their soldiers in the use of Covenant weaponry because all captured weapons were supposed to immediately be turned over to the Military Intelligence Corps, and partially because they wanted to discourage soldiers from picking them up and using them. Using enemy weapons was always a dicey prospect. It was very hard to tell when a weapon was rigged to blow up without taking it apart, which for Covenant weapons would destroy it because they wouldn't know how to put it back together, and even if it did work, Covenant weapons had a very distinct sound when firing. As soldiers were geared to firing towards that sound, friendly fire incidences had a tendency to skyrocket whenever a soldier picked up a Covenant weapon. Still, it wasn't like Moss had much of a choice right now.

Studying the weapon, Moss decided the Needler was about half-loaded based on the amount of needles sticking out of the top receiver. Fumbling around, he searched until he found what appeared to be the trigger. Pointing the weapon at the ground, Moss pulled it just to make sure, and jumped when it fired off four needles instead of the one he intended. Okay, so the weapon fired in full auto. And there didn't appear to be a selector switch of any kind, which kind of sucked seeing as how he had no idea how to reload this damn thing. Plus, he couldn't figure out where the damn sights were. How the hell did the Covenant aim this thing? Was this the reason why Grunts always seemed to have such shitty aim?

After a few seconds of searching, Moss gave up. Whatever. If it worked, it worked. If it didn't, well, he was screwed no matter what he did at this point.

Keeping a hold of the Needler, Moss glanced down at the ground to try and pick up the trail he'd been following again. It wasn't easy. Based on the footprints in the snow, the group had scattered, probably seconds after this man had been sniped. There were four distinct groups of footprints running away in different directions. There was no way Moss could follow all of them. He had to choose one, but which one? Ideally, he would have loved to rejoin his squad, especially now that Griffin had been killed in action and Roer had deserted. He had to make sure Norén and Poblede were alright, even more so because Poblede had just gotten her hand hacked to pieces. But it was impossible for Moss to tell which way they had run off to base on their footprints alone.

Then he spotted it. A small trail of blood in the snow, running alongside one of the groups.

Moss quickly thought it over. Plasma induced injuries did not bleed as the superheated material usually cauterized the flesh, sealing the blood vessels shut. But Pip had been hacked up by a metal blade, which would not have the same side effect. Granted, shrapnel from explosives also caused bleeding, but there hadn't been much of that, outside his initial bomb of course. Plus, with everyone busy running away, it was doubtful Pip would have had a chance to bandage her wound. This had to be Pip's blood.

Moss climbed to his feet, a plan of action in mind now. He was going to follow this group which would hopefully lead him to Poblede. And with any luck, Norén had decided to join her, being a familiar face and all, so hopefully Moss would find Norén at the same time. Once he had found them both, he was going to figure out a way to get them out of this city. He was **not** going to lose any more of his men today, that much was certain.

With that in mind, he headed out.

Trudging through the snow in their wake, Moss wearily scanned the buildings around him, mindful of the fact that Zealot was still out there looking for blood, and that Covenant patrol his fellow service members had engaged was probably now in the process of tracking all of them down. He had to watch his step because, man, that was a lot of dudes looking to kill him. He never had this many enemies before. And to think, during his middle school years, he had been voted the "most likeable person" at his private school. Had his personality changed that much in less than a year in the army that he was pissing off everyone he met? Granted, most of the people he met nowadays were murderous aliens who wanted to kill every single human they met, so it wasn't like Moss could hope to charm them with his sunny personality. But still. He had never known anyone to hold a personal grudge against him and now that there was more than one, quite honestly, he was kind of intimidated. The sooner he got out of this fucking city, the better off he would be. If there was only some way…

"God dammit all," he swore to himself.

"What's up with you?"

Moss jumped and looked up as Shin entered the room.

"Holy shit," Moss exclaimed. "Look who it is. I'm sorry, can I help you? Are you in the right barracks? Do you need directions?" he jokingly said and Shin chuckled appreciatively.

"Yeah, laugh it up you asshole," she replied with a shake of her head. "Everyone has said that so far. Did you guys plan this? I go away for a little bit and all of a sudden, you guys pretend you don't know me anymore?"

"Not at all," Moss sincerely replied. "You just disappeared on us without warning, so no one knew what to think. Come on, sit down." He quickly cleared some of his laundry off his bed so Shin could have a seat.

"Thanks," she replied as she walked over and took a seat. Moss noted the limp she was walking with, but seeing the look on her face, opted not to point it out.

"So, what's going on?" Moss asked as she settled in. "How have you been? Where the fuck have you been the last month?"

Shin gave a dismissive shrug. "Here and there. Army shit, you know how it works. What's been going on around here since I've been gone? Anything interesting?"

Moss shook his head. "Not really. Same shit, different day. Wake up, do PT and formation, train for a war that's not coming, maintenance for the rest of the day, and then finally, lights out, bedtime. Next day, rinse and repeat." Moss paused. "Actually, hang on. Ferguson got married. Forgot about that."

"Did he now?" Shin asked with interest. "Well, good for him. That's pretty exciting."

"No kidding. Got to meet his partner." Moss hesitated, before adding, "Did you know Ferguson was gay?"

Shin raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. I think everybody did Moss."

"Oh," Moss awkwardly commented. "Cause uh, I totally had no idea."

Shin glanced at him, an incredulous look on her face. "He was pretty open about that Moss. How the hell did you not notice?"

"I'm not really conscientious about that sort of thing," Moss allowed.

Shin laughed. "You lived a pretty sheltered life, didn't you?"

"I'm beginning to realize that, yes."

"Ah, well, I suppose that's one good thing about the Army," Shin said with a shake of her head. "You get to meet all sorts of different people. Anyways, what's got you so worked up? You playing a game?" She jerked her head in the direction of the VR glasses Moss was wearing. Moss jumped.

"Oh this? Just playing some _Space Simulator 25k._ It's nothing, I'm just having problems with this one level."

"Really? Let me see."

Moss shrugged and activated his glasses, projecting the view so Shin could see. She took one look at the level he was on before turning to him in disbelief.

"Moss, you're on the tutorial."

"It's a hard tutorial, okay?" Moss protested a bit defensively. "Besides, I never said I was _good_ at this game."

"Why are you playing it then?"

"I figured it wouldn't hurt to have some knowledge about how to fly an aero spacecraft."

Shin audibly facepalmed. "Moss, you're an idiot."

"What?"

"Okay, first off? This game does not teach you how to fly a real spacecraft. That's why they call it a game. Second off, the chances of you getting behind the controls of a spacecraft without an actual pilot nearby is next to zero. Seriously."

"Okay, A? This game is a simulator, which means it simulates reality. It even says so on the title," Moss pointed out. "B? With this war, you never know."

Shin snorted. "Okay, fine. Then what are you stuck on?"

"The landing part," Moss sheepishly admitted. "Can't seem to land intact."

"Let me try it."

Moss thought about it for a moment before shrugging. It couldn't hurt.

Handing over the goggles, he quickly showed her the control before sitting back and watching her work. The level starting the player off mid-flight so Shin didn't need to worry about takeoff. She wasn't a bad flier; she was a bit unsteady with the controls, but with a bit of practice she would be fine. The landing part, however, was less fine.

Moss winced as Shin overshot the landing zone by a good thirty meters, plowing into the ground with enough force the entire lower plating of the Pelican was torn off. As the Pelican came to a screeching halt, Moss shook his head and turned to consul her when –

"What the fuck?" Moss blurted out as he stared at the projection, and the words "Level Complete" floating in front of him. "How the…"

Shin started laughing. "First try dude!" she cheered.

"But you crashed the Pelican?" Moss sputtered. "How does that count?"

Shin shrugged. "Any landing you can walk away from?" she suggested, then cocked her head. "You hear that?"

Moss jumped, and then darted into a nearby alley as the sound of approaching Banshees filled the air. Looking up at the sky, he watched as a pair of them streaked by overhead, one of them trailing smoke. He waited until they had disappeared from sight, and then waited a bit longer until the roar of their engines faded into the distance. Standing back up, he quickly brushed the snow off his pants.

Well. That wasn't a good sign. A pair of Banshees flying over the city, one of which was clearly damaged, and they didn't receive any fire, either from the ground or the sky? The Banshees weren't even attempting to evade, just flying in a straight line. Where was the god damn Air Force? Or the Army Air Defense Corps? The Navy? Marines? How could the Covenant fly over the city uncontested?

Moss shivered. He could think of several possible answers to that question, and none of them bode well for him. He had to find Pip and Norén now, and get out of the city while he still could. **If** he still could. He looked around.

Hang on a tick.

How did he get here again? He knew he was following some footsteps but he must have zoned out because he did not recognize where "here" was. Granted, pretty much all the building in this area looked the same, but this was definitely not where he was a minute ago.

Huh.

Looking around, Moss spotted the footsteps he had been following leading up to the rear entrance of a nearby building. He started towards the door, but then it occurred to him it could be a trap, so he readied his Needler. Cautiously advancing on the door, he noticed it was slightly ajar and that he could hear voices from inside. Intrigued, he hovered by the crack, listening. It took him a few minutes but he quickly realized he recognized the voices: it was his squad.

"This is it? This is all that made it?" a male's voice was asking with a desperate edge to his voice. Volkov.

"Yeah, this is it," another male tiredly replied, sounding out of breath. Xanthus probably. "You shouldn't be that surprised; as soon as that first guy got hit, it was every man for himself. _Everyone_ scattered."

"I know," Volkov replied. "But I was hoping everyone would follow me. I was yelling at them to follow me."

"What did you expect?" Norén scornfully demanded. "Everyone was scared out of their fucking minds. They just weren't going to follow a completely unknown officer, especially one that was leading them further into the city. We should have been headed towards the outskirts."

"Wait, we went further into the city?" Xanthus asked. "If you knew that, what did you follow him for?"

"I didn't realize where we were going until we were already halfway there. Plus, I wasn't following him, I was following her, trying to make sure she was alright."

"Sorry," Poblede said. Her voice was weak and she sounded exhausted, which made Moss frown in concern. "Wasn't thinking, I just moved."

"Wasn't blaming you Corporal."

"Ah," Poblede commented. "So… now what?"

"We need more men," Volkov announced.

"Well, that goes without saying," Xanthus replied.

"Told you guys we should have waited for that sniper to catch up," Moss heard Norén mutter.

Moss heard someone shake their head. "We couldn't," Volkov resignedly replied. "Covies were closing in from all directions. We had to get away while we still could. Otherwise, we would all be dead right now."

"Now that sniper might be dead."

"Well, if that sniper was able to get that close to the Covenant base, it's possible he was able to sneak out just as easily," Xanthus pointed out. "Especially with all of us running around like a bunch of fuckwits. Hell of a distraction."

"We have any idea who was doing the shooting?" Moss heard Poblede ask and he decided now was as good as any to make his grand entrance.

"Oh, that would be me," Moss announced as he pulled the door open, revealing himself.

Entering the room, he glanced around. Norén, Xanthus, and Volkov were all standing in the center of the room in a small circle, shivering in the cold. None of them were armed, though by the looks of it, none of them were injured either. Moss wasn't really able to confirm though as his eyes were immediately drawn to Poblede. She was sitting on a small overturned bucket behind the group. By the looks of it, Xanthus had taken off his jacket and thrown it over her shoulders in an effort to keep her warm. She was clutching her wounded hand against her chest, the stubs of her fingers having been covered with Norén's balaclava and secured in place with Volkov's belt. There was a dark spot where her stubs were, indicating she was still bleeding, but she was alive, and that's all that mattered to Moss for now.

Standing in the open doorway, Moss watched with mild amusement as all four of them turned to face him, the expressions on their faces going from fear, to relief, then to shock and astonishment as they registered exactly who stood in front of them.

"Hello there," Moss announced. He tried to insert a jaunty tone to his voice, but he was just a bit too tired to accomplish that.

For a moment, no one reacted. Then Poblede slowly rose to her feet.

"Moss," she whispered, as if in a trance. Then, without warning, she launched herself towards him, pulling him in a fierce hug.

"Oomph," Moss grunted as her hug caused his battered body to flare up in pain. "I'm really glad to see you too Pip, but could you ease up on the hug a bit? I'm black and blue all over."

Poblede snorted, but relented nonetheless.

"You look like shit," she announced as she pulled away, sniffling. Moss snorted.

"I feel like shit," he admitted. "Are you okay?" he asked, looking closely at her face. She had a pale sheen to her face and she was a bit unsteady on her feet, but her eyes were still full of determination and defiance.

"Still breathing," was all she said and Moss shrugged. Good enough for now.

Moss looked up as Norén approached and unexpectedly pulled him into a one armed hug. "Sergeant," she said. "It's good to see you."

"Likewise Specialist," Moss earnestly replied as he returned the hug before pulling away. He glanced over at Xanthus and gave him a nod. "Sergeant Xanthus."

"Sergeant Shen," Xanthus replied, returning the nod. "Glad to see you're still standing."

"And how are you still standing?" Volkov interjected. "Don't take this the wrong way Sergeant, but… aren't you supposed to be dead?"

"Seriously," Poblede added. "That fuel rod cannon exploded right in your face. We thought for sure you were dead."

"I'm not entirely convinced I'm not," Moss admitted. "It was just dumb luck, I guess, sheer dumb luck."

"You got someone up high looking out for your brother," Xanthus suggested. Moss shrugged.

"Maybe."

"Sergeant, did Griffin make it?" Norén asked.

An image of Griffin's shredded body flashed through his mind, and Moss reflexively reached into his pocket and felt the tags he carried there. He shook his head and Norén nodded, as if that was what she was expecting.

"Shit," he heard Poblede angrily mutter.

"What about Specialist Roer?" Norén enquired. "I lost track of him during the escape. You happen to know his status?"

Moss opened his mouth to reply, but then hesitated. What should he tell them? It was his squad, so, they deserved to know the truth. But, at the same time, he didn't want them to think too badly of Roer's memory. Roer made a conscious choice to choose his family over the rest of humanity, but Moss just couldn't find it within himself to hold it against him. Simultaneously, Moss wasn't quite willing to write Roer off just yet, even though realistically, Roer's chances of survival were slim to none.

"Last I saw of him was during the fighting," Moss slowly said, thinking. "I think he was going for a weapon. But things were moving so quickly, I lost track of him soon afterwards."

"I didn't see him with the rest of us when we were leaving the base. But then again, I wasn't exactly doing a headcount," Norén conceded. "Maybe he's with one of the other groups."

"Hope he's doing better than we are," Poblede sincerely proclaimed.

"Yeah, me too."

"Sergeant," Volkov called out, drawing Moss' attention. "Did anyone else make it?"

Moss thought about it for a minute before shaking his head. "Not from our unit, I don't think so. Demirci was fatally wounded, Asoka got stabbed, Oshiro was shot, Captain Rabinowitz was…" Moss trailed off at the stricken look on Volkov's face.

"Yeah. We know," Xanthus finally said.

Silence descended on the room as they all thought about their fallen comrades.

The silence was broken when Volkov sighed. "Well," he began, "we're just going to have to make do with what we've got."

Moss glanced at the rest of the group, confused. "Do, sir?" he asked.

Volkov grimaced. "We got to finish our mission," he stated with obvious reluctance.

Moss opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Xanthus abruptly exploded in anger.

"Are you for real Major?" he demanded. "Are you fucking blind? Do you not see the current state we're in? The only mission we could even hope to accomplish at this point is getting out of this city intact, and even then that's a dicey prospect. But you want us to go further into Covenant held territory? You're out of your fucking mind."

"We have to," Volkov resignedly replied. "This is our only chance to finish our mission and achieve our objective."

Moss meekly raised a hand. "Sir, if I could…"

"Achieve our objective?" Norén echoed. "Funny, I seem to remember us achieving **our** objective. We blew up that thing in the crater, didn't we?"

"If that was the location where everyone had gathered, then yes, we would be finished here," Volkov said with strained patience. "Unfortunately for us, they weren't, so now we've got to go and find the rest of them."

"Rest of them?" Xanthus sputtered. "We still don't even know what the fuck we're looking for because you won't fucking tell us!"

"Actually," Moss quietly began.

"As I said before," Volkov interrupted, "it's classified. But things have changed."

"You're damn right things have changed," Norén scoffed. "In case you haven't notice, eighty percent of our unit has been killed in action. Now you want to make it a full one hundred percent?"

"Actually, Roer's MIA, not KIA," Poblede pointed out.

"Fine, we've suffered eighty percent casualties," Norén corrected. "Whatever. The point still remains."

Moss coughed. "Guys…"

"We have to finish this mission," Volkov insisted. "Otherwise, that eighty percent casualty rating? They would have all died for nothing."

"Unless someone has seen his body, Roer is not dead," Poblede insisted.

"All your men Sergeant Xanthus," Volkov continued, ignoring Poblede. "We have to finish this mission to make sure they didn't die for nothing. Make sure that Rabinowitz…" for a second, Volkov wavered, "didn't get executed for nothing."

"Wow," Xanthus exclaimed. "You're really trying to invoke the memories of **my** soldiers that **you** lost? You have no shame, do you? Those men are dead because of you. My paras would still be alive if it weren't for this damn mission! They've already died for no reason!"

" **Could y'all shut the fuck up for half a second so I could say something**?" Moss abruptly yelled out before anyone else could talk over him. He waited until everyone had done just that before continuing. "Thank you! What I was trying to say is: we don't need to worry about our objective any longer. I already dealt with it!"

"Come again?" Volkov asked, surprised.

"There was no satellite, was there?" Moss asked instead. "You wanted us to find this guy and destroy his body and all the equipment he was carrying, to make sure the Covies didn't get their hands on it, right? Well, I did."

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the dog tag for KAI-A019 and tossed it over to Volkov, who caught it with one hand. He stared at the tag in his hand in disbelief.

"How?" he finally choked out.

"Dropped a building on him," Moss explained. "Managed to take out an entire Covenant Special Operations patrol at the same time."

Norén blinked. "Nice," she complimented.

Moss gave a modest shrug. "I got lucky," he said simply.

Volkov meanwhile, continued to study the tag in his hand. Moss watched as a distressed look pass over his face. "You sure he was dead when you found him?" he sadly asked. Moss scratched his head at the question.

"Yes, I'm sure."

"How?"

"'How?'" Moss repeated. "It's going to take me like an hour just to recite all the injuries that I could find, and I'm no combat medic."

Volkov nodded before asking, "Was he alone?"

Moss thought back to how he found the man. Back against the wall. "Yes, he was."

Moss was startled when a hopeful glint appeared in Volkov's eyes and he grinned. "Then there's still hope. There were three of them."

"What?"

"There were three of them," Volkov repeated, sounding excited. "Argon Team consisted of three members: Alpha zero one niner, Bravo one seven zero, and finally Sierra zero six two. Bravo one seven zero was most likely the body in the crater, based on the size of the armor that was laying there. You obviously encountered Alpha zero one niner because you wouldn't have his tags otherwise," Volkov shook the dog tag in his hand, "and hopefully what you've said is accurate and his body has been secured. That leaves Sierra zero six two unaccounted for, which means she could still be alive. We have to find her."

"I'm sorry," Poblede interrupted. "I'm still a bit confused. Obviously, you were lying about us needing to destroy some crashed satellite. That much is clear. What I'm not quite getting is: what are we _really_ looking for?"

"Some spec-ops team," Moss dismissively answered, but then paused when he noticed Volkov shaking his head.

"It's not just any special operations team Sergeant," Volkov said with a sigh. "Argon Team was a team of _Spartans."_ He trailed off.

When Volkov failed to continue speaking, Moss exchanged a confused glance with the rest of his squad.

"You act as if that should mean something to us," Norén finally noted.

Xanthus let out a loud snort. "Spartans. What, we were looking for a bunch of half-naked meatheads running around swinging spears and shit?"

Volkov chuckled. "No, not quite." Then he sobered up. "Listen. What I'm about to tell you is classified as top secret, need-to-know, eyes only. This is top level stuff. If ONI finds out you know this information and that I was the one to tell you, they could potentially execute us all."

"So why are you telling us this then?" Poblede asked.

"Because you need to understand how crucial it is we find these guys," Volkov firmly stated. "So: what are Spartans? Well, I don't think it's an exaggeration to say they're singlehandedly going to be the ones who prevent the extinction of entire human race."

"How?" Moss asked, thinking back to how KAI-019 looked. "They're just soldiers. Highly trained soldiers, I'm sure, but soldiers nonetheless."

"Oh, they are so much more than that Sergeant," Volkov said and to Moss' astonishment, Volkov actually sounded reverent. "Spartans are… how can I explain this in a way you'll understand?" He drummed his fingers against his chin before snapping his fingers. "Okay. Think about the best, the most elite unit in the entire UNSC military. You're probably thinking of ODSTs or Rangers or something like that, right? Well, I guarantee you, one Spartan is worth an entire battalion of those units."

"That doesn't make any sense," Xanthus said skeptically. "How can one person match the output of an entire six hundred man battalion?"

"Because of what they are," Volkov simply replied. "I don't know the exact details because Spartans belong to NAVSPEC and I don't have clearance with them, but I do know Spartans are so much more than mere humans. They're stronger, faster, smarter, and tougher than your average human being. Their reaction times are pretty much instantaneous, their senses are off the chart, and their training? You know, when I went through Selection, I thought I was going through the toughest training the UNSC military could provide; I was wrong. The pre-deployment training those Spartans were going through? Indescribable."

"Speaking of indescribable," Norén interjected. "You're speaking words Major, but you're not making much sense. Use a little less fanboyism and a lot more specificity when describing them please."

"It's difficult. If you saw them in action, you would understand," Volkov insisted. "The things they can do… I've seen Spartans deflect missiles with their hands. Dash across minefields like they weren't even there. Annihilate entire Covenant divisions without suffering a single casualty. I've even seen one Spartan take on a Hunter in hand to hand combat and come out on top. In fact," Volkov stared right at Norén, "you've seen their handiwork."

"I have?"

"Hill 117, on Alluvion. We called it Hill 117 at least. I believe you locals called it Szechuan Hill?"

A look of comprehension appeared on Norén's face. "The Massacre at Szechuan Hill," she whispered before her eyes narrowed. "That was the work of the Phantoms?"

"Phan - ? Oh right. The Innie nickname for our Spartans."

Norén looked shaken, but Moss was just confused. Fortunately, he wasn't the only one.

"Someone want to fill in the blanks for those of us who aren't familiar with every single engagement of the Insurgency?" Xanthus irritably asked. "What the hell is the Szechuan Hill?"

"Szechuan Hill was a fortified ADF base a couple of klicks south of Greenwood," Norén explained. "We used it as a staging area for our attack on the city. Not the biggest base, but it was pretty well defended. Anywhere upwards of a thousand soldiers positioned there. UNSC forces tried to take that hill in five separate engagements, but could never drive us off. Then one night, the base went radio silent. I was part of a reconnaissance platoon sent to investigate why; when we got there, we found that everyone in the base had been killed, a high number of them by slit throats, broken necks, or single stab wounds to the brain stem. Many more had been killed without firing a single shot from their weapons. And these soldiers weren't rookies; quite a few of them had been part of the war since the beginning. To have all these experienced soldiers killed without having had a chance to fight back, and all in the span of a couple hours? We couldn't explain it."

"Holy shit," Tanner muttered and Moss nodded his head in agreement.

"What about the Phantoms?" Poblede asked, sounding faint though Moss wasn't sure if it was out of fear or because of her injuries. "What's that all about?"

Norén shrugged. "Separatist groups talk. Sometimes it's to coordinate offenses, sometimes it's to sell weapons and other supplies, other times it's to exchange intel. But there are stories. Stories about entire Separatist groups disappearing overnight, similar to what happened on Szechuan Hill. Critical supply caches getting destroyed in the middle of heavily fortified bases. Key leaders being assassinated while holed up in secret bases. No one ever got a good look at the perpetrators, and security cameras could never get a clear picture, but the descriptions were always the same: a massive figure, maybe two meters tall. Green skin with a golden face. Strong enough to punch holes into half-meter thick titanium-a plating. And capable of moving so fast, they appeared as blurs even on cameras."

Volkov nodded. "Spartans," was all he said.

"Well, hang on," Xanthus interrupted. "If these guys are so good, then what the hell happened here? How did two of them get killed and one of them go missing? And why did we get sent in after them?"

Volkov sighed. "We came to Actium in order to run integration drills with our newest member, Bravo one seven zero, among other things," he explained. "However, that plan was put to bed the moment the Covenant jumped into the system. It was abundantly clear from the moment that first ship open fired, that the UNSC fleet in this system was not strong enough to hold them back. We needed to buy time for reinforcements to arrive. So Argon Team volunteered to try and sneak aboard one of the Covenant battleships and destroy it from the inside with a Shiva tactical nuke. They were able to successfully infiltrate the ship and plant the warhead, but something went wrong during the extraction. The nukes went off too early, and Argon Team wasn't able to get clear of the blast in time. They were thrown, roughly from the middle of the thermosphere, all the way to the surface of this colony."

Poblede whistled. "Wow. That's like, a three hundred some kilometer drop, isn't it?"

"Give or take a couple dozen meters."

"Okay. So they can't beat physics. That's fair," Xanthus allowed. "But that doesn't explain why we got sent in. We're not CSAR. Why not send in Air Force Pararescue or Navy Rescue Swimmers? Or, I remember you said Rangers weren't available, but fuck, why not SRT? At least they know something about hostage rescue and VIP protection. Us? We're paratroopers; our job is kill the enemy, not rescue friendlies in the middle of enemy occupied territory."

"Because…" Volkov began with obvious reluctance. "Because those Spartans weren't supposed to be alive. No one should have been able to survive that fall, not even Spartans. The speeds they must have been traveling at just before they hit the ground? There's a reason why we couldn't track their trajectory. I mean, they should have disintegrated upon impact."

"But they didn't?"

Volkov sighed. "Immediately after impact, we picked up their emergency transponders, which were active for exactly 14.762 seconds. Then they went silent. ONI thought the signal was the result of a glitch; they were convinced the transponders had been damaged during transition through the atmosphere. They wanted to conduct an airstrike at every probable crash site in order to make sure those bodies didn't fall into Covenant hands. The thing is, if those transponders had been damaged, they would have either not broadcasted at all, or they wouldn't have _stopped_ broadcasting. Someone had to have turned them off, which meant at least one Spartan was still alive. I had to go save them. I convinced my superiors an airstrike wouldn't be enough to completely incinerate those bodies; we needed to send in a ground team, which would give me a chance to look around. The thing is, if all we were doing was incinerating some bodies, then there wouldn't be any need for a specialized unit. A regular ground unit would do. Say, the recently relieved paratroopers of the 222nd Airborne Division…"

"So basically what you're saying is we were expendable," Xanthus accused.

Volkov shook his head. "No. What I'm saying is, these Spartans are my men. My responsibility. I will do everything and anything, as well as take any help I can get to save them."

"And if you happen to get yourself re-promoted in the process, then all the better, huh?" Norén snidely remarked.

Volkov sighed. "What Rabinowitz said wasn't entirely accurate. Okay, yes, I was part of the Phoenix Program on Alluvion. And yes, with the benefit of hindsight, we may committed a few war crimes -"

"A few?" Norén interrupted, incredulously. "You were murdering people in the street! A lot of people who didn't even have any connection to us whatsoever!"

"The point is," Volkov said loudly. "Every single OP we conducted, every single raid we launched, every single person we…" he hesitated for a moment, "murdered. All of those targets had to be approved by High Command before we launched. They knew every single detail of what we were getting into and in fact, they actually thought we weren't being brutal enough! We followed their orders to the letter! But the moment they realized they might suffer some backlash from those very orders, they turned tail and ran! Like a bunch of slimy, fucking politicians, these 'so-called' military leaders immediately threw their men to the wolves, despite everything we did for them!"

"If that was the case, then why are you still with the UNSC?" Norén demanded to know. "If you experienced firsthand how corrupt and evil the UNSC can be, why are you still fighting for them?"

"Because I'm not a fucking traitor to humanity!" Volkov snapped. "Like it or not, the UNSC is still the only organization around that has a fighting chance against the Covenant! But with that being said, if I'm going to still be here, I'm going to damn well do my best to make sure High Command doesn't screw anyone else over like they did with me."

Volkov sighed before looking over at Xanthus. "Look Sergeant. I am very sorry all your men have died. I swear to you, that was not my intention. All I wanted to do was have a chance to rescue MY men. But I can't do it without your help. That's why I'm asking... no, begging you, all of you, to finish the mission. Help me, please."

For a moment, no one said anything as they were all busy digesting everything Volkov had just revealed to them. Finally, Xanthus looked Volkov square in the eyes, and shook his head.

"No?" Volkov exclaimed. "Why the fuck not?"

"Because, despite everything you told us, it doesn't change the facts," Xanthus said. "Fact is, we are combat ineffective right now. We've got no weapons, no equipment, no manpower. We're barely in any condition to rescue ourselves, much less anyone else."

"But," Volkov started to protest, but it was about that point Moss started droning everyone out. His headache was returning and really, all he wanted to do right now was curl up into a ball and die.

Reaching into his IFAK, Moss took out his stash of painkillers. Fumbling to remove the tiny pills from their wrapper, he popped them into his mouth and swallowed them dry. He leaned his head back against the wall, briefly wondering when the hell he had taken a seat on the floor, and waited for the medicine to kick in.

"What a bunch of idiots," Tanner announced with a slight sneer, jerking his head in Volkov and Xanthus' direction. "Standing around arguing about our next course of action? Meanwhile, those damn Split-lips are closing in from all directions."

Moss absentmindedly nodded in agreement.

"Well, let's not stand on ceremony," Tanner declared, climbing to his feet. "These idiots want to stand around yelling at each other, that's their business. Come on Private, let's bounce while we still have a chance."

Moss sighed. Just when he was getting comfortable. Struggling to his feet, he staggered after Tanner as they walked towards the door.

"Moss, where are you going?" Poblede abruptly asked as he pushed the door open, allowing a wave of cold to enter the room.

Moss glanced at her and shrugged.

"I don't know," he admitted, jerking his head in Tanner's direction. "Ask him, he's in charge."

"Ask who?" Poblede said, with an odd expression on her face.

Moss exchanged a glance with Tanner. "Tanner, of course," Moss informed her.

"Tanner?" Poblede repeated, incredulous. "As in, Sergeant Wilbert Tanner?"

Moss blinked. "Of course," he replied, confused. "Do you know any other Tanner?"

Poblede stared at him in disbelief. "Moss," she slowly began, "you do know it's impossible for Sergeant Tanner to be here right now, don't you?"

Moss stared at her. "Sergeant Tanner?" he echoed. "Now that's a name I haven't heard in a while. What made you bring him up?"

Poblede stared at him. "You brought him up," she informed him.

Moss frowned. "No I didn't," he protested. He released his grip on the door handle and stared. What was he doing by the door again?

"Yes you did," Poblede insisted.

For reasons he couldn't explain, Moss felt a violent surge of anger at that. "Pip, I think I would **fucking** remember if I brought Tanner up or not," he snapped but then immediately felt guilty. That was a little harsh.

Moss glanced over at Poblede to apologize, but then paused. Rather than look hurt or offended by his outburst, Poblede looked even more worried than before.

"Moss," she hesitantly began. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Hang on a second," Xanthus interjected before Moss could reply. Moss looked around and realized they had somehow attracted the attention of everyone in the room. "Could someone explain to me who the fuck Tanner is?"

"Staff Sergeant Wilbert Tanner was our original squad leader when Pip and I were first assigned to the 222nd," Moss explained. "He was Sergeant Ferguson's predecessor. He was the guy who got me and Pip integrated into the unit and he was with us when we got deployed to Newsaka."

"Here's the thing," Poblede interrupted, taking over Moss' explanation. "Day One on Newsaka. You know that airdrop we did as part of the opening stages of OP Mossflower?"

"To set up a blocking position against Covenant retreat," Volkov elaborated. "Yeah, I heard about it. What of it?"

"Well, the five hours we were on that Pelican before the drop? Yeah, that was the last time anyone ever saw Tanner again," Poblede grimly announced. "Officially, Tanner went MIA over the skies of Newsaka. But in the two months we spent plantside, no trace of him was ever found. Our best theory is: he took a direct hit from a fuel rod cannon on the way down. Completely incinerated him. So," she gestured at Moss with her good hand, "that fact that Moss here is saying he's talking to Tanner right now, is disconcerting, to say the least."

Moss felt a chill go down his spine as everyone turned and looked his way. "But, you brought him up," Moss weakly protested to Poblede, only to hesitate when he noticed Norén shaking her head.

"No Sergeant," Norén informed him. "You definitely were the one to bring him up first."

Moss stared at her in disbelief for a moment before turning to Tanner. "Okay. This?" he said, gesturing at himself and then back at Tanner. "This is something you should have mentioned."

"How the fuck was I supposed to know?" Tanner protested. "Besides, even if I did, we were in the middle of heavy contact. When exactly would I have been able to tell you?"

Moss found he didn't really have a good response to that. His head began hurting again so to cover up the awkward silence, he reached down to his IFAK from some more painkillers.

"Sergeant."

Moss reflexively turned his head and jumped when he found Norén standing right next to him.

"How the…" Moss said, glancing at Norén and then back at the spot she'd been standing in moments ago. "How the hell did you teleport from all the way over there to all the way over here?"

"I've been trying to talk to you for the last couple of minutes," Norén worriedly informed him. "How long have you been blacking out like that?"

Moss blinked. "Blackouts?"

"Okay, this?" Xanthus suddenly exclaimed, causing Moss to jump. "This right here is a problem. The only guy with a gun around here is out of action."

"Hey, I'm still in the fight," Moss protested.

"But for how long Sergeant?" Xanthus queried. "You're incapable of remembering what we were talking about five seconds ago, you can barely focus on the person standing right in front of you, you look like you're going to collapse any second now, and that injury on your head does not look healthy."

Moss reflexively touched the top of his head and for the first time, realized there was a massive lump on his head and the left side of his scalp was sticky with dry blood. When the hell did that happen?

"You're showing all the classic signs of a concussion, Sergeant," Xanthus continued as Moss gaped at his hand.

"Worse, even," Norén interjected and Xanthus nodded in agreement.

"Worse even," Xanthus repeated. "You need an immediate medivac." He glanced at Poblede. "You and her both. We need to get out of here. The sooner, the better."

"Hang on," Volkov interrupted. "We can't just leave!"

"Major," Xanthus loudly said. "I understand your desire to save your men. I really do. But you need to face reality. There is absolutely nothing we can do at this point. And even if we could, we don't even know where to begin to look! Our best bet… our only bet, is to fall back so we can rearm and regroup and then maybe, maybe we can come back out. But until then…" he trailed off.

Volkov opened his mouth, as if he was about to retort, but then he glanced in Moss' and Poblede's direction and seemed to deflate.

"You're right," he finally said. "A tactical withdraw is our best course of action at this junction."

Moss could see Norén roll her eyes. "I'm glad to see we're all on the same page now," she said somewhat sardonically. "But the real question is _how_ do we do that?"

"I might have a solution," Volkov admitted. "I was trying to avoid using it because of the dangers involved but…"

From the corner of his eye, Moss noticed some movement on the street outside. He turned to see what it was and paused at the sight. It was a… glowing red-pink circle that was… floating, a few centimeters above his head?

Moss squinted and then leaned in forward for a better look. What the hell was that? Was he… seeing things? He tilted his head to try and look at it from another angle, but the circle didn't move. What the fuck? A small part of him felt like the object in question looked somewhat familiar, as if he had seen it before. And that he should be really concerned.

"- need your radio," Moss heard Volkov say behind him. "Sergeant? What are you looking at?"

" **Sniper!"** Norén screamed, grabbing a hold of Moss and dragging him out from the open doorway.

 _ **FIIIZZZTTT!**_

Moss let out a yelp of surprise and pain as the bright purple beam of the particle beam rifle passed right over his left shoulder, missing flesh by merely millimeters.

"Contact! Jackal sniper, about a hundred and fifty meters down the street! Contact is on the second floor of the burnt out building straight down the block!" Norén barked as Moss hit the ground. Hefting a Needler in one hand, Norén hauled Moss up to his feet with her free hand. "Sergeant, give me covering fire!"

Unstrapping the M7 SMG he had attached to his left thigh, Moss extended the stock and removed the safety. He nodded at Norén.

"Cover!"

Leaning around the doorframe, Moss quickly aimed at the spot he had seen the red-pink circle and fired a burst.

 _BAHBAHBAHBAHBAHBAHBAHBAHBAH!_

Behind him, Moss could see Poblede flinch and reflexively cover her ears with the palms of her hands as Norén darted pass the open doorway and took cover on the other side of the doorframe. As soon as she was safe, Moss ducked back into cover.

"Now what?" Moss yelled at her.

"You poke your head out for half a second and draw their fire!" Norén ordered. "I'm going to nail them with this thing!" She lifted the Needler.

"Do you even know how to use that thing?"

In response, Norén hit a button and Moss blinked in surprise as the Needler let out a metallic noise and abruptly all the holes at the top were filled with pink needles once more.

"I guess you do," Moss muttered. "On three?"

Norén nodded. She lifted three fingers, then began lowering them one at a time. As soon as she reached zero, Moss poked his head out before immediately withdrawing it.

 _ **FIIIZZZTTT!**_

Moss grimaced as the purple beam burned a hole clean through the metal frame. Norén immediately leaned out from her side and laid down on the trigger.

 _FWOOZFWOOZFWOOZFWOOZFWOOZFWOOZFWOOZ!_

Norén continued to hold down on the trigger until all the needles had been used up. Moss poked his head around the doorway and he could see as the pink needles streak down the street and pepper the area the sniper was hiding. Before all the needles had even made it down the street, there was a brilliant white-pink flash as a small explosion consumed the sniper's perch. Moss' view of the scene was cut off when Norén pulled the door shut.

"That's probably the same fucking sniper that engaged us earlier," Norén mused as she wedged the empty Needler into the door handle, preventing the door from getting pulled open. "That got him, but there's bound to be more of them. We should leave, now." She glanced at Moss. "You alright? You get hit?"

Moss quickly glanced at his shoulder. There was a small burn mark on his sleeve but aside from that, he appeared to be unharmed. "I'm fine," he reported. "Thankfully that sniper was a shit shot."

"Actually, I think he hit exactly what he was aiming for," Xanthus announced in an odd voice from behind them.

Moss turned around and froze at the sight that laid in front of him. Volkov was lying on his back, a look of surprise on his face, a smoking hole in his chest where the beam had passed right through his heart. Xanthus knelt beside him, cradling Volkov's head in his lap, two fingers pressed against Volkov's neck, checking for a pulse. After a moment, Xanthus reached up and closed Volkov's eyes before retrieving his identification tags from around his neck.

"Of course that just fucking happened," Xanthus bitterly said as he stood up, letting Volkov's head fall to the ground. "The one guy who could have gotten us out of this mess and naturally, he's the one who fucking gets shot. There's no way we can be this unlucky. Someone upstairs obviously hates us."

"Did…" Moss sputtered. "Please tell me, did one of you at least hear what his extraction plan was?"

"We did," Norén confirmed. "He was going to use your radio to contact a special operations aviation unit in the area and arrange for a hot extract."

"Can't we do the same thing?"

Xanthus shook his head. "We need his authorization codes. But the only person who knew them was…" He gestured helplessly at Volkov.

All four of them stood there, staring at Volkov's rapidly cooling body.

"Well," Poblede finally said. "Now what?"

Norén sighed. "Now?"

"We die."


	12. Chapter 11

To Scorpion: Thank you so much for your kind words! I'll admit, between life and work and everything in between, it's hard to keep up with my writing but I will definitely try my best to continue putting out material.

Anyways, short chapter this week. I had originally planned for the contents of this chapter to be at the end of Chapter 10, however it felt more right making it a standalone chapter. To make up for the general lack of material this week, I'll be updating this story next week, as opposed to the standard two weeks.

* * *

 **Chapter 11**

"Now? We die."

Norén's words seem to echo around the room for a few moments as everyone tried to absorb their meaning.

"Well, that's a bad plan," Moss glibly announced.

"If you have a better idea Sergeant, I am all ears," Norén drily stated.

"Oh, I didn't say I had a better idea. Just wanted to make sure everyone knew that dying was a bad plan."

"Thanks," Xanthus sarcastically said, "but I think we all worked that one out by ourselves."

"Fuck it. If I'm going to die, I'm going to die comfortable," Poblede announced as she carefully took a seat on the ground.

"So much for dying on your feet," Moss muttered to himself.

"What?"

"I said, 'so much for dying on your feet,'" Moss repeated.

"I don't think you're supposed to take that literally Moss."

"True," Moss commented as he hobbled over towards Poblede. Letting his SMG drop to the ground with a clatter, he slowly eased himself into a sitting position on the floor next to her. "What a fucking day," he said with a sigh.

"You said it," Xanthus noted as he and Norén joined them on the ground. Together, all four of them sat there, reflecting on the events that had led them to this point. Then, unexpectedly, Poblede began giggling.

Moss stared at her, wondering if she had finally cracked. She noticed his stare and she composed herself long enough to answer Moss' unvoiced question.

"Sorry. You're talk of Tanner made me think of some of the guys that used to be part of our squad. Hey, do you remember Stohl the Mole?"

Moss thought about it for a moment before he started laughing. "Oh man, how could I forget that guy?"

"Who was he?" Xanthus asked.

"Jarid Stohl. Jarid, spelled with an 'id' and not an 'ad.' He was always very adamant about that," Moss explained. "He was one of the original members of our fireteam back on Skopje."

"Motherfucker loved digging holes," Poblede elaborated. "That's why we called him the Mole. Loved playing in the dirt. Every time we'd go out in the field to dig foxholes or trenches or whatever, he'd get super excited and do what we ended up calling his 'mole dance.' I can't remember how to do it but... how did Lancelot describe it once?"

"'A full body dry heave set to music,'" Moss quoted from memory.

"He had music too?" Norén asked with a raised eyebrow. Moss snorted.

"Yeah, he had a song he would sing, if you wanted to call it that. Honestly, it sounded more like nails on a chalkboard to me but hey? Who am I to judge?"

Poblede grinned. "We used to tell him 'hey Mole! You should transfer to Military Intelligence, help interrogate the EPWs. With a voice like yours, you're sure to make them talk!'"

"He sounds like he was a character," Xanthus observed.

"Oh he was a riot. Used to tell people he had the dream job of every three year old boy in existence: he got to play in the mud every day," Moss fondly said. He started laughing when another thought occurred to him. "Hey Pip. You remember Kellogg?"

"Oh god," Poblede groaned with a roll of her eyes. "I try not to."

"Korak Kobaní," Moss said, answering the unspoken question. "We used to call him Kellogg because his ancestors were from Syria, a fact he was really proud of for some reason, but the first time he told us that little factoid, dumbass here," Moss gestured at Poblede, "thought he said he was from **Cereal**."

"In my defense, we had just gotten back from the firing range and I had forgotten my ear plugs, so my ears were still ringing when he said that," Poblede feebly tried to defend herself.

"Yeah yeah, excuses," Moss said dismissively. "The thing is, he had this absolute crush on Pip here, so he didn't care."

"Really?" Norén asked. Moss nodded.

"Oh yeah. He actually used to hate my guts because I was one of the only people Pip really hung out with."

"Speaking of crushes," Poblede began with a wicked grin. "What about Smelly Noelle-y?"

Despite everything he had been through, Moss could feel his cheeks involuntarily begin to heat up at the mere mention of the name.

"Shut up," Moss mumbled. "You thought she was hot too."

"Yeah, but she was a dumbass. She didn't belong on the frontline."

"Well, to be fair, no one really does," Moss said diplomatically.

"No, I mean, she _really_ didn't belong. Don't you remember how she got her nickname? Well, maybe you don't because you never really went to town with us, but she used to wear this heavily scent perfume. Wore it all the time. Even tried to wear it in the field once but fortunately Command put a stop to that real quick. She really didn't belong."

"Yeah, well, maybe that's why she got a Section 8(1)," Moss suggested, "and got replaced with..." He glanced at Norén. "Actually, I think you replaced her Norén."

Norén shrugged.

"Speaking of smell, back on Newsaka, did you guys notice how because of all the rain, all the Brutes started smelling like wet dog after a while?" Xanthus commented. Poblede snorted.

"No kidding," she said. "It was starting to get so bad, you could smell a Covenant patrol from like, a klick away."

"Or more," Xanthus agreed with a laugh. "I remember ambushing this one patrol where the Jackals were standing, like, twenty meters away from the damn Brute leading them because he smelled so bad!"

"The smell definitely saved my life at least once," Norén noted. "I was on a patrol once with Ferguson, we were going to go lay some mines somewhere and I was on point. Didn't see the Covenant patrol sneaking up on us, but definitely smelled them."

"In our down time, me and Demirci used to wonder why the Elites would make the Brutes, who were covered in fur, fight in an environment where it was raining all the time whereas the Elites, who were covered in scales, didn't," Xanthus mused. "We figured the Elites just did it to spite the Brutes."

"Yeah, there's definitely some hostility between those two races," Moss remarked.

"Too bad we couldn't exploit it to our benefit," Norén noted.

"Yeah," Moss sadly agreed. "Though I'm not sure how much difference it would have made in the long run."

The rest of the group nodded in agreement with Moss' assessment.

"You know what I wish?" Poblede said after a long stretch of silence. "I wish we had made a difference. That all the struggles, all the pain, the friends we lost, everything. That all of it was worth it."

"Come on Pip," Moss said. "We made a huge difference."

"Did we though?" Poblede challenged. "We didn't win a single battle. We didn't save anybody. Everything we did today, what was it all for? It does seem to matter how hard we fight, the Covenant was still going to win."

"We beat them on Newsaka," Moss pointed out.

"But then we promptly abandoned that colony, rendering everything we did moot," Poblede countered.

"True," Moss allowed, "but by beating the Covenant, we gave the remaining citizens of Newsaka time to reach safety. To evacuate. That's got to count for something. And then there was that mission we did with Menteith earlier this morning. Those three hundred some people we helped save? That's something. Plus, being on the front like we are, we don't always get to see the big picture. Who knows how much damage our actions have caused against the Covenant? Who can really say the repercussions of what we did today aren't going to be felt further down the line? I can't see into the future, can you?"

"Always knew you were a closet optimist Moss," Poblede joked before letting out a long sigh. "I get what you're saying but... I don't know. I guess I just don't like leaving things unfinished. Like this mission of ours. It's stupid, but some part of me really wanted to see it through."

"It's like I told Volkov," Xanthus interjected. "We don't even know where to begin to look."

"I guess," Poblede said with a shrug.

 _RATATATATAT!_

Moss jerked in alarm at the sound of machine fire close by and raised his SAW. But the gunfire died off just as quickly as it came and Moss slowly relaxed.

"Do you think that could be him?"

Moss glanced behind him. Poblede was taking a knee beside him, her grenade launcher strapped to her back and the assault rifle she had "acquired" resting on her knee, staring at him with an expectant look on her muddy face.

"What?" Moss asked.

Poblede rolled her eyes. "I said, do you think that could be him?" she asked again, gesturing at the badly burned body she and Moss were guarding.

Moss glanced at the body and then looked back at Poblede. "Do I think he could be who?"

Poblede let out an irritated sigh. "Were you not listening to a fucking word I said?" she snapped. "Tanner! Do you think this guy could be Tanner?"

"How the fuck should I know Piper?" Moss snapped back. "In case you didn't notice, he doesn't have a fucking head! And any identification he may or may not have had, has been burned to a bloody crisp!"

"I mean, if it is him," Moss added as an afterthought, "then he missed the DZ by a lot."

"It's got to be him," Poblede declared. "Who else could it be? Can't be that many more guys missing."

"It doesn't work that way Piper. It's only been three days. It's going to take at least a week to figure out who's still missing."

She scoffed and shook her head. "Fuck." She then abruptly pointed at the body with her free hand. "You know, that's a fucked up way to go. Getting tortured by the Covenant, getting beheaded, and then set on fire. Hopefully this guy got beheaded before he got set on fire."

"No kidding."

"You know what I don't get?" Poblede continued to speak, despite Moss' general lack of interest. "What I don't get is what this guy is doing so close to the place he landed." She gestured in the direction of the parachute that had been carelessly abandoned on the ground nearby. "He had to have known the Covies would be close by. He should have booked it from the area."

"That's not always the best option," a new voice interjected and Moss glanced up to see Lancelot walking towards them.

"Sir," Moss called out in greeting.

"LT," Poblede said with a nod.

"Privates," Lancelot responded as he dropped to one knee beside them. "How's it going?"

"Not too bad sir, all things considered," Moss answered.

"Yeah, we're still breathing, so that's a plus I guess," Poblede replied with a shrug. "Hey, sir, what did you mean about it not always being the best option? I thought SOP for a mis-drop was to immediately leave the area so you could hook up with other friendly forces in the area."

Lancelot shook his head. "That's what they teach you at Jump School because the assumption is, there _will be_ friendly forces in the area to hook up _with_. But anyone with SERE training knows that's not always going to be the case. Sometimes you do want to run away. Sometimes it's better to just stay there and hide. Sometimes you want to run away, but then double back. Lot of people don't go back to double check ground they've already covered."

"Double back huh?" Moss commented, making a mental note of that in case he ever found himself in that situation. Then something else Lancelot said struck him. "Wait, SERE training sir? Tanner didn't have any SERE training."

"I know," Lancelot grimly replied. "That's because that," he pointed at the body, "is not Tanner."

"They've already ID'ed the body sir? Who was he?" Poblede asked.

"Yeah. It's an Air Force pilot, one of our Shortsword escorts that got shot down. And it's a 'she,' not a 'he.'" Lancelot sighed before clearing his throat. "Anyway, medics are going to deal with her. Pack it up troopers, we're moving out."

"Sir," Moss acknowledged before climbing to his feet.

"Moss."

Moss automatically turned at the sound of Piper's voice, but then froze. He was looking at Piper but at the same time, he wasn't. In the last few seconds, it appeared Piper had gotten much older, with wrinkles and stress lines covering her face. She had also lost a lot of weight, and she had become rather pale.

"Moss," she said. "You still with us?"

Moss blinked. And just like that, he found himself back on Actium. His head was reeling but unlike all the other times he had found himself returning from a trip down memory lane, he was left with the feeling he had reached a sudden revelation.

"This is starting to get really alarming you know," Moss heard Xanthus say in the background, but Moss refused to get distracted.

"Pip," Moss abruptly said, snapping his fingers. "Why did he call me Lancelot?"

"What?" Poblede said, sounding startled. "Who?"

"Volkov!" Moss said excitedly, trying to maintain his train of thought. "When we first met, he asked if I was Lancelot!"

"Is he still out of it?" Norén asked but Moss shook his head.

"No, shut up, and bear with me, I think I'm on to something," he distractedly ordered. "Volkov asked if I was Lancelot. And then, back at the crash site when he and Rabinowitz were getting into it, I asked him why he didn't get a unit with clearance to know about Spartans, right? Volkov said something like, 'I tried, but I got _you_ instead.' At the time, I thought he was referring to all of us as a collective 'you,' but what if he was referring to me specifically? As in, he requested Lancelot, but got me instead?"

"Okay," Poblede slowly said. "I'll play along. What does it matter if Volkov had requested Lancelot or not?"

"Lancelot was Marine Force Recon attached to an ODST unit," Moss excitedly reported. "Volkov said the Spartans were Navy operatives, right? So, that means there's a high chance Lancelot knew about the Spartans, worked with them even?"

Out of the corner of his eyes, Moss could see Xanthus lift an eyebrow. "Makes sense," he admitted. "ODST units are routinely assigned to support NAVSPEC operations, mostly because of the close relationship between the Marine Corps and the Navy."

"And if Lancelot supported Spartan ops, then that would mean he would have received similar training to them. He would think like them, right?"

"Sure. Unlike the Army, the Marines actually make sure their soldiers are trained before sending them out in the field. My twin brother is a Marine," Xanthus explained. "So we were compared training procedures."

"Norén," Moss barked. "Volkov said the Spartans crash landed on the surface of the planet at least five hours before we reached the crash site, yeah?"

Moss could see Norén thinking. "Yeah, something like that," she finally said.

"But when we got to the crash site, you said someone had thrown a white phosphorus grenade into the crater about _one_ hour before our arrival."

"It was within the hour," Norén agreed, then paused. "Wait a minute, are you saying..."

"Colonel Menteith said this area was one of the first places the Covenant hit," Moss excitedly announced. "Think about it. Say you're a Spartan. You just crash landed in Covenant controlled territory. Not all the members of your team survived and maybe you didn't completely make out unscathed. But! You're alive and that's all that matters. So now you've got Covies closing in from all directions. You need to leave. At the same time, you know how valuable you are and you have to make sure the Covenant don't get their grubby hands on your dead teammate. So what do you?" Moss thought back to the Spartan he had found and what sort of state he had found the man in. "You throw yourself at the Covenant. Hit them with everything you got and lead them away from the crash. Once you accomplish that, you double back to finish the job, and then hide yourself to wait, either for rescue or for High Command to secure you!"

"In fact," Moss continued, "that would also explain the actions of the Covenant. Pip, Norén, you remember what that TWAT Sergeant said soon after we landed?"

"Um, no."

"She said it took the Covenant almost an hour before they fully committed to attacking the city. That must have been when they realized where the Spartans were. And why that Zealot capture us instead of outright executing us like they normally would have. They must have realized the Spartans doubled back, saw us, figured we stashed the Spartans somewhere, and grabbed us to figure out where!"

"Hang on a second Moss," Poblede interrupted, raising her good hand. "Are you saying the Spartans were there, in the general vicinity of the crash site this entire time? Why didn't they say anything?"

That gave Moss pause. "The thing is," Moss slowly began, "I think they did. What did Volkov say their call signs were again?"

Xanthus, Norén, and Poblede all exchanged glances.

"Uh," Xanthus finally said. "Alpha zero one niner, Bravo one seven zero, and Sierra zero six two, I think."

"Sierra zero six two," Moss repeated to himself. "Pip. When we deployed to Newsaka as part of Operation Mossflower, did any unit have a call sign of Sierra zero six two?"

"No," Poblede instantly replied. "No unit bigger than a battalion uses the phonetic alphabets as a call sign because there's not enough letters and it would get too confusing. Why?"

"Because just before I came to at the crash site, I heard someone use that exact call sign. At the time I was dreaming about Newsaka, so I thought it was just some unit we were with that I just couldn't remember, but now I'm thinking I might have actually heard my radio. It _was_ set to the general comm frequency at the time."

"So our real objective, just happened to be in the vicinity of our fake objective. Unbelievable," Norén scoffed. "Well, that narrows the area down a bit, but not by much."

"Hang on, what?" Xanthus asked but Moss ignored him as he considered Norén's point.

"What was he doing there?" Moss finally asked, thinking out loud.

"Who?"

"That Kai fellow," Moss absentmindedly replied, deep in thought. "Out of all the buildings in the general area, why'd he choose that one to take cover in?"

Norén stared at him with a thoughtful expression on her face. "You think that was the building they decided to hole up in?"

Moss nodded.

"Hang on," Poblede interrupted. "Not that I'm saying you're wrong, but just to play devil's advocate, how can we be sure that dude just didn't take cover inside the building because it was the most defensible building around?"

"It might have been. But he was alone when I found him; no signs of anyone else," Moss reported. "I'm just having a hard time thinking of reasons as to why they would split up."

"Well, you said he was wounded, right? Maybe he was trying to lead the Covenant away from his friends," Poblede suggested but Moss shook his head.

"He had a shit ton of weapons on him; an M6G pistol, an SRS99, and this SMG," Moss gestured to the SMG in his hand. "If he was leading people away, wouldn't he have left his weapons behind for the survivors to use?"

"Well, whatever the case was, it's at least a starting point," Norén noted. "My issue is, Sergeant, you said you _blew up_ the building."

That gave Moss pause.

"Well, let's hope I didn't do a very good job then," he finally said.

" **Hang on everybody!"** Xanthus abruptly yelled, holding his hands up. "You guys aren't seriously thinking of going out there and looking for this… this Spartan, are you?"

Poblede cocked her head at him. "Yeah. Why not?" she sincerely asked. Xanthus stared at her in disbelief.

"Were you guys not listening when I was arguing with Volkov? We have no gear, no equipment, and no weapons."

"Moss has a weapon," Poblede pointed out.

"Yeah? And how much ammo does he have left?"

Moss ejected the magazine to his submachine gun and grimaced. "I got one round," he admitted as he tossed the empty magazine to the ground.

Xanthus nodded, as if that proved his point.

"We're essentially unarmed," he reported. "The only things we've got to fight with are our hands, whatever crap we can pick up off the ground, and colorful language. Maybe if we were fighting against unarmed Grunts that would be enough but against Jackals? Elites? That fucking Zealot? Forget about it."

"So we avoid fighting against any Covenant patrols," Norén announced.

"And how do we do that?"

"Stick to the buildings, stay out of sight."

"We've been doing that all fucking day! And how has that worked out so far?" Xanthus challenged. "Plus, we don't even know where the fuck we're going!"

"I do."

They all turned to stare at Poblede.

"I do," she insisted. "Moss said the building is near the crash site, right? Well, I know how to get there?"

"From here? How?"

"I memorized the route," Poblede proclaimed. "I wanted to be able to make my way back because, well, this was obviously when I thought you were dead Moss, but I wasn't planning on leaving you out there."

"Thanks Pip," Moss tiredly but emphatically told her, genuinely touched by her kindness.

"That's all good and everything," Xanthus announced, "but what about our wounded? You have one hand left, Sergeant Shen here keeps blacking out, and Specialist," he turned to Norén. "I don't know about you, but I'm this close to collapsing due to sheer exhaustion and I am so fucking cold right now, I'm not even convinced I'm still alive. And that is not something we can address."

Moss rubbed his temple. This argument was starting to make his head throb.

"Look Sergeant," Moss declared before anyone else could say anything. "The bottom line is this: with Major Volkov and Captain Rabinowitz dead, you are not only one of the highest ranking soldiers around, but you've also got seniority. That means, you're in charge. You give us an order, and we," he gestured at himself, Norén, and Poblede, "technically have to obey. You want us to stay here, then we will. But I have only one question to ask you: what are we going to do here?"

"You're right you know," Moss continued. He pointed at the door. "We go out there to go looking for the Spartan in the condition we are in now, it's more than likely going to be a suicide mission. But if we stay here, we're still going to die. We've got no extraction, no way out. It's only a matter of time before the Covenant find us. And after what we did to that Minister of theirs, I don't think they'll be inclined to grant us a swift death. But if we go looking for that Spartan, well, we can at least die knowing we fought to our last breath."

Feeling drained, Moss fell silent as he waited for Xanthus' reaction. He watched as Xanthus let out a loud sigh before he vigorously rubbed his eyes.

"God dammit," Xanthus groaned. "And to think, two months ago I was a Private fucking First Class. How the fuck did I get to this point? Fuck." He angrily ran his hands through his hair before throwing his hands up into the air. "Alright Sergeant, you raise a good point. If we're going to die either way, might as well go down swinging. So…" Xanthus let out one last sigh.

"Let's fucking do it."

* * *

1\. Section 8: a category of discharged used by the US military given to any service member who was discharged from the military due to psychological reasons. No longer in usage by the military.


	13. Chapter 12

Broman, while I certainly won't object to receiving more reviews, please don't feel like you need to go out of your way to give me more. You've given me plenty so far and the quality of reviews that you, and really everyone else, has given me is astonishing to me. If having less reviews means receiving higher quality reviews, then I choose the quality over the quantity any day!

As to the flashback moments, I did actually struggle with how I wanted to portray those. Like you said, normally there would be a scene break, but in this story, the entire story is being portrayed through Moss' viewpoint and for Moss, the line between reality and memory is extremely blurred right now. To him, his hallucinations of Newsaka are just as real as is his current presence on Actium. What I wanted to do was show was that, whether it be because of exhaustion or brain damage, Moss wasn't _consciously_ trying to recall memories, he just _was._ And more alarmingly, he _doesn't realize_ what he's doing. Hence the lack of scene breaks. Because, like I said, for Moss, he is seamlessly slipping back into his past.

So, the question is, what exactly is wrong with Moss? Truth be told, I don't even know. I will be completely honest: I really dropped the ball on this. In my original outline, my plan was for Moss to start having flashbacks in order for him to bring all the pieces together. But the problem was, being super nostalgic didn't really fit his personality as he wasn't old or weary enough to start thinking of the "good old days." I felt there had to be a good reason for him to suddenly start having flashbacks, otherwise it would just be weird, and so I hit upon the idea of him receiving a concussion. I did some quick research, just to get an idea of some the symptoms, and then I quickly wrote out the chapter. It wasn't until after I wrote and posted it, did I do some more in-depth research and I kind of realized that if Moss had received a traumatic brain injury that bad he was having hallucinations this severe, he probably couldn't finish the rest of the mission at which point the story would pretty much be over. Unfortunately at this point, it's a little too late to change it so right now for our purposes, Moss is suffering from some sort of vague (and dare I say, cliché) brain trauma. Yay, fanfiction magic!

Needless to say, no one should use this story for medical advice.

Anyways, as promised, the next chapter.

* * *

 **Chapter 12**

"Is that the building?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Jeez. You did a number on it, didn't you Sergeant?"

"Thanks? I mean, I could only use what I had at hand which, admittedly, wasn't much."

"On, that wasn't a criticism Sergeant. You did good. Very impressive. Maybe a little too impressive. Let's just hope the building doesn't collapse while we're poking around inside."

"No kidding," Moss said as he transferred his SMG from his left hand to his right so he could wipe his brow with a sleeve that wasn't completely soaked through. Transferring his SMG back to his dominate hand, Moss exhaled. "Alright. Pip, could I have my goggles back please?"

In the dim light, Moss could see Poblede jump in surprise. "Oh, right," she exclaimed. She reached up and pulled the shooting glasses off her face before handing them back to Moss. "It's been a long time since I've been out this late without a pair on, I kind of forget these weren't mine."

Moss grunted in agreement as he slid the glasses back onto his face. Turning them on, he ignored the 'low battery' warning that flashed across his eyes as he switched over to the image enhancement setting. Instantly, the entire area was lit up with a green glow, and Moss sighed in relief as he could see again.

Shouldering his SMG, Moss mentally began psyching himself up to enter the building. He had no idea what to expect, so he had to prepare for anything. However, given his limited resources, that was somewhat difficult. He could only pray he didn't blackout upon entering the building. Realistically, he probably shouldn't be the one to have to clear the building but unfortunately, he was the only one of the group with body armor. Moss supposed he could have given his armor to Norén or Xanthus and let them enter first, except they were both bigger than he was and, in the case of Norén, had a much more pronounced chest than he did which meant his armor wouldn't fit them properly. Not that it really mattered given that his armor was pretty much in ruins at this point, but it was still better than nothing.

Realizing he was stalling, Moss took another deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Alright guys," he said in a low whisper. "Wait for my call."

Without further ado, Moss raised his SMG and limped across the street towards the target building. It was like Xanthus said: Moss' bomb had done a hell of a lot of damage to the building. All the outer walls had shattered and been thrown outwards by the blast, covering the street with masonry which in turn had been covered by snow, making the ground rather uneven and a pain for Moss' wounded foot to walk across. As he drew closer, Moss realized that not only were the walls gone, the only thing still standing, on this corner of the building at least, were the support columns. Many of them were crumbling and as Moss walked passed them, he found himself holding his breath, least he accidently breathe too hard on one of them and cause a cascading failure.

Entering the building, Moss carefully swept the room, even though there was clearly no place for an ambusher to hide. What had once been a break room was now a smoldering pile of shattered masonry, half-melted metal, and crumbling wood. Every single intact surface was covered in soot, and every step Moss took caused little puffs of ash to rise from the ground. Further in, the interior door and walls separating the break room from the rest of the building had been blown apart, revealing a large, vast, empty space. There was clearly no signs of activity, living or otherwise.

Walking to the center of the room, Moss winced as there was a mute _crunch_ , and he reflexively looked down to see what he had stepped on. It was a dome-shaped piece of metal that had shattered when Moss stepped on it, its structural integrity compromised by the sheer heat from the explosion.

Turning it over with his boot, Moss picked it up to study it. It was hard to tell exactly what it was, but it looked like it had, at one point, been part of a kneepad. Moss wondered if it had belonged to that Spartan, or whether it had belonged to one of those Elites he had killed, but the fragment was too badly damaged for Moss to tell.

 _Creak._

Moss reflexively dropped the piece of metal and readied his weapon as he heard something from the floor above him. He stood there, stock-still, his ears straining, waiting to see if the noise occurred again, but aside from the sound of his breathing, there was only the _thud_ of distant explosions from the fighting taking place somewhere in the city. Clearly, the arrival of nightfall had not slowed the Covenant invasion down one bit.

After a few minutes, Moss began to wonder if he had in fact, actually heard something or if he imagined it instead. Because apparently that was happening to him today. Still, it was perhaps something worth investigating.

Very gently releasing his breath, Moss turned towards the street and let out a low whistle, gesturing at his team to join him even though he was pretty sure they couldn't see him. He didn't allow himself to relax though, at least not until he saw all three figures of team emerge from the darkness and join him inside.

"Area cleared," Moss whispered to them. "But I think I heard someone moving around upstairs."

"You sure?" Norén asked, hefting a piece of rebar she had armed herself with. Moss shook his head.

"No. I can barely hear as it is. Not sure if what I heard was my imagination, the building settling, or something. Still, worth checking out?" He directed the last part towards Xanthus, who shrugged.

"We came this far," he replied. "Might as well. Sergeant, take point. I got your back. Or, at least as well as I can with this piece of shit." He lifted his hand, revealing the sharp piece of metal he was carrying. "Specialist, cover our six. Corporal, um, try not to get killed."

"No promises," Moss heard Poblede mutter.

"Sergeant, move it out."

Moss nodded and headed for the area where the door had once been. Stepping over the broken door, he looked around and notice a set of metal stairs going up to the right.

"Stairs, right side," Moss whispered to his team. He felt Xanthus pat his shoulder in acknowledgement and Moss walked over to the staircase and glanced up the stairwell. The stairs only led up one floor. A single closed door with a small window was all that separated the staircase from the second floor.

"Going up," Moss whispered and started up the stairs. He made sure to ease his foot down slowly on each step, trying to make as little noise as possible, though that was virtually impossible given he was wearing armored boots on a thin metal staircase.

Reaching the top of the staircase, Moss paused outside the door and peered through the window. Just beyond the door was a small hallway. Leading into the hallway were four doors, two on the left, one on the right, and the last one at the very end of the hallway. All the doors were closed, and Moss couldn't see any movement beyond them.

"Clear," Moss whispered. "Going through."

Grabbing the doorknob, Moss jiggled it to see if it was unlocked. It was, and Moss was about to push through the door when a thought occurred to him.

"Hey Sergeant?" he whispered out loud.

"What is it?" he heard Xanthus whisper.

"Let me ask you something," Moss replied. "Theoretically, if you were a Special Forces Operator stuck behind enemy lines and being hunted by some hunter-killer team, you'd probably rig up some sort of booby trap, would you?"

"Most definitely," Xanthus instantly replied.

Moss sighed. "Shit. Send Norén up here, I think I'm going to need her help."

He could felt Xanthus nod behind him, and as Xanthus and Norén worked on switching spots in the line, Moss released his grip on the door, dropped to his knees, and began searching the edges of the door for booby traps. As he worked, he could sense Norén walking up behind anything.

"Find anything?" she asked.

"No," Moss replied. "But I'm not entirely sure what to look for. It would help if we knew what these guys were carrying, what they scavenged, or what they're capable of building with the material at hand. I don't know if I should be looking for a tripwire, laser wire, pressure plate, motion sensor, radio detonator, or something to that effect."

"It would definitely help if we had more light," Norén agreed.

Moss jumped as he remembered something. "Wait, I think I can do something about that."

Reaching into his backpack, he pulled out his long-forgotten, hardly-used stash of IR chemlights. Similar in appearance to a glow stick, IR chemlights differed in the fact they produced infrared light, which could only be seen with military night vision optics, making it extremely useful in situations such as this where they were trying to avoid attraction the wrong type of attention.

Pulling one out and activating it, he rolled it under the door so that it lit up the area on the other side. Peering through the window, Moss tried to look for any obvious signs of tampering to the door.

"See anything?" Norén asked.

"No," Moss said slowly, "but why don't you take a look?"

He handed Norén his goggles and moved to the side to give her room. He stood there in the dark, waiting, as Norén carefully scanned the area behind the door.

"Clear, I think," she finally announced. Stripping the glasses off her face, she handed them back to Moss. "You ready?"

Moss threw his glasses back on and leveled his weapon before nodding at her. She grabbed the door handle and pulled the door open, and Moss quickly pushed through the doorway. Briefly wondering why he felt the need to act all tactical when he had clearly seen through the window there was nothing waiting for him on the other side, he waited until he sensed his team piling in behind him.

"Okay, hold up guys," he heard Xanthus order and so Moss stood there, weapon at the ready, waiting for Xanthus.

After a few moments of silence, Moss started to get impatient.

"What are we doing Sergeant?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," Xanthus admitted. "I'm just thinking: if that Spartan is here, shouldn't we be calling out to her, let her know friendlies are here? Avoid any potential friendly fire incidents?"

"Problem is, we're not sure if we're the only ones here," Moss pointed out.

He could hear Xanthus sigh. "You picking up any IFFs on your tracker?"

Moss checked his glasses, only to realize his on board computer had automatically turned off his IFF tracker in order to conserve battery power.

"It won't matter," Norén reported before Moss could switch it back on. "Volkov said they turned off their transponders."

"Damn," Xanthus muttered. "Alright, I guess we're searching room by room. Fortunately, there's not too many of – "

 _Thud_

For a moment, Moss thought he was hearing things again. But then he noticed Xanthus tensing up.

"You heard that?" Moss asked, just to be sure. Xanthus nodded.

"Sounded like it came from the end of the hall," he said.

"Should we start there then?"

Moss could feel Xanthus nodding behind him.

"Alright, moving."

Moss began slowly making his way down the hallway, keeping his eyes on the door at the end of the corridor. As he limped forward, Moss could feel his heart racing and his breath began to come out in short spurts as adrenaline began flooding his veins once more, catching him somewhat by surprise. He would have thought after everything he'd been through today, his body would have been completely drained of adrenaline. Apparently not.

As he struggled to bring his breathing under control, Moss also tried to maintain his focus on the door in front of him, but it wasn't easy. His body was still twitching as it was still reeling from being in close proximity to multiple explosions, and he was so tired his eyes were beginning to hurt. He kept seeing all sorts of movement in the door in front of him, and he kept hearing strange noises coming from the walls around him, though given the general lack of reaction from his comrades behind him, he was pretty everything he was seeing and hearing was all in his head. Still, he couldn't shake the unnerving feeling he was about to walk into an ambush.

It was no doubt because of that feeling, the moment Moss felt something touch his shin, he immediately froze.

"What is it?" he heard Xanthus whisper into his ear but Moss didn't respond right away. Instead, without moving his feet, Moss crouched down and blindly groped the air in front of his shin until he felt whatever it was that touched his shin: it was a piece of wire, so thin it was barely visible even through his night vision glasses, stretched across the width of the hallway and elevated about twenty centimeters off the ground.

"Tripwire," Moss reported, suddenly very glad for his wounded foot. If it wasn't for his uneven gait, he probably would have most definitely stepped on that wire.

"Shit. Tripwire," Xanthus muttered, presumably for everyone's benefit. He turned back to address Moss. "Can you defuse it?"

"Depends on what it's wired to," Moss distractedly muttered, tracing the wire back to the right side of the wall.

Pulling out another chemlight and activating it, Moss immediately noticed the wire was connected to a M9 fragmentation grenade that had been duct taped to the wall. It was a pretty simple but effective trap: the grenade's safety level had been activated, so all it would take would be a simple bump to set the grenade. If he had stepped on the wire, the grenade would have been ripped off the wall, bounced off the floor, and detonated. In this tightly enclosed hallway, the results would have been devastating.

"Found it," Moss announced.

"Can you defuse it?"

"Yeah," Moss grunted. He reached for the grenade, intending on moving the activation lever on the grenade to the "safe" position so he could remove the device from the wall without risking it blowing up in his face. To his surprised though, the lever had been snapped off, leaving the grenade permanently armed.

"Damn," Moss muttered to himself. "I was hoping to salvage that. Oh well."

Pulling out his multi-tool, Moss extended his pliers and prepared to cut the wire.

"Have to cut the wire," Moss announced over his shoulder.

"Okay, go ahead."

Moss positioned his pliers over the wire, glancing over at the grenade once last time to make there wasn't any other way to salvage it, when he noticed something odd: there was another wire leading from the grenade running straight up the wall.

Puzzled, Moss reached over and strummed the wire on the wall like it was guitar string. To his surprise and alarm, the wire on the ground moved with it, indicating they were connected.

"Um, I think we just hit a snag," Moss warned. "This tripwire is connected to something else."

"A secondary?" he heard Norén asked.

"Maybe."

Moss stood up and traced the wire up to the ceiling when he noticed it: in the corner where the wall and the ceiling met, there was a second grenade. For now, the grenade was just dangling there, held in place by the wire. But if Moss had cut the tripwire like he had intended, the second grenade would have fallen to the ground and most likely detonated in his face. It was a rather simple, but clever, way of tamper-proofing a booby trap.

"Secondary," Moss announced, nodding at the second grenade. "Need to deactivate that before I can cut the tripwire. You might want to stand back in case I fuck this up."

Holstering his SMG, Moss stood on his tiptoes and reached for the grenade, mentally praying he could deactivate this one. Because it was hanging in mid-air, it wouldn't take much to set the explosive device off; the thing about impact triggered explosives was that if he breathed too hard, he could accidently blow the grenade into the wall, which would probably be enough force to trigger the time delayed fuze at which Moss would have three seconds to get clear. Moss didn't want to risk that, so he held his breath and -

 _BAM_

Moss had just enough time to look down and see an armored fist burst right through the drywall and grab him by the ankle before he was yanked off his feet. He hit the ground but before he could recover, he was _**pulled straight through**_ the wall.

"Moss!" Moss heard Poblede scream as he was battered by chunks of wood and drywall.

He barely had enough time to realize he was on the other side before he was flung across the room like he nothing more than a ragdoll. He slid across the floor and hit the wall on the far end. Scrambling to recover, Moss grabbed for his SMG but before he could get his hands on it, the same armored fist seized it and immediately jabbed the barrel under his chin. Moss quickly raised his hands in surrender.

"Identify yourself," a low, feminine, almost mechanical but distinctively human, voice growl.

"Sergeant Moss Shen, Alpha Company, 131st Engineer Battalion, 3rd Brigade, 222nd Airborne Division," Moss rattled off. "Temporarily attached to Special Warfare Group Three."

The barrel under Moss' chin was slowly withdrawn, not entirely, but enough so Moss could turn his head. He turned to see a hulking figure, wearing the same green armor and gold plated visor as KAI-A019 had, sitting on the ground next to him, SMG in hand. He quickly studied her appearance.

The first thing that struck Moss was her size. Like KAI-A019, she was huge, much bigger than Moss by a fair amount though whether she was bigger than KAI was a little hard to tell as she was sitting on the ground. As noted, she was wearing a similar type of armor to KAI had been wearing, but it wasn't missing as many components and some of the attachments differed. The helmet was the same though, a green painted ODST style helmet with a reflective golden visor, one that was so shiny Moss could see his reflection in it, even in the dim light. Like KAI, this Spartan had clearly seen some action, as her armor was spotting some deep cuts and vicious looking dents, but obviously she wasn't as badly wounded as KAI had been. There was something off about her appearance, something about the way she was holding herself seemed wrong, inhuman almost, but Moss couldn't put his finger on it. Perhaps it was the fact she was completely still, like she'd been carved out of a rock or something. In fact, if wasn't for the fact she had spoken, Moss would have thought she was dead. He couldn't see or hear her breathing, and the hand holding the SMG hadn't wavered once, despite the length of time she had been hold onto it. It was somewhat unnerving, actually.

There was a loud _BANG_ as the door to the room burst open, and the rest of Moss' team came piling in. Moss blinked, and by the time he had opened his eyes again, the Spartan had whipped out an M6G pistol with her free hand and was currently pointing it right at his team. Xanthus, Poblede, and Norén all froze.

"Lower your weapons," the Spartan ordered, gesturing at the rebar and sharp piece of metal Xanthus and Norén were carrying. Moss could see them hesitate.

"It's alright guys," Moss announced, trying to sound confident even though he was quaking in his boots. "We're all on the same side here. Go ahead and lower them." He waited until they had done just that before waiting for the Spartan to follow suit. She didn't, and Moss found himself nervously licking his lips.

"Are you, um, Sierra zero six two?" Moss finally dared to ask. He stared at the Spartan, waiting for a response, or at least a reaction, but there was none. Moss started to get really nervous.

"Major Volkov sent us," he finally announced.

That caught her attention and Moss could see her slowly turning her head until she was staring right at him. Moss quickly realized he couldn't figure out what was more nerve racking: the gun under his chin or the unseen stare of a Spartan.

"Where is he?" she finally asked.

"Dead. He was killed in action about half an hour ago," Poblede piped up when Moss failed to immediately respond.

The Spartan turned so she was facing Poblede and Moss let out a mute sigh of relief.

"Who's in charge?"

Xanthus awkwardly raised his hand. "Uh, that would be me ma'am. Sergeant Jacob Xanthus."

The Spartan stared at him and Moss could see Xanthus squirming a bit uncomfortably under her gaze. "You the rescue squad?"

"Yes ma'am. What's left of it, at least."

"But you're Army Paratroopers?"

"Yeah," Moss slowly replied. "It's weird, but I guess we were the only ones available."

The Spartan didn't say anything in response and despite himself, Moss began to feel a bit irritated. They were here to rescue her. Sure, maybe they weren't exactly what she expected, but why the hell was she acting so damn hostile to them?

Almost as if she heard his thoughts, the Spartan abruptly lowered her weapons.

"Petty Officer Second Class Sierra zero six two," she announced as she magnetized her sidearm to her thigh. In her other hand, she spun the SMG around so that the business end was now pointed at herself before offering it back to Moss, who grabbed it, and promptly dropped it because his hands were shaking so much.

"Is that a name? A rank? Or a call sign?" Poblede asked as Moss, somewhat embarrassedly, swooped down to retrieve his gun.

The Spartan fixed Poblede with another stoic gaze. "Yes," was all she said. Moss waited for an elaboration, but there was none forthcoming.

"Well, now that that's been settled, maybe it's time we starting thinking about a way out of here," Norén suggested as she pushed her way into the room, with Xanthus and Poblede following suit.

"Before we extract, we need to make sure the rest of my team is secured," the Spartan abruptly informed them. "We cannot allow them to be taken prisoner by the Covenant."

Moss exchanged an awkward glance with the rest of his team. Was she not aware…?

"Ma'am, I don't think them getting taken _prisoner_ will be a problem," Xanthus delicately informed her.

Fortunately, the Spartan instantly understood what he was hinting at.

"Then we must ensure the destruction of their bodies and any and all equipment they were carrying," the Spartan told them. "We can't allow the Covenant the opportunity to dissect and disseminate my team's corpses."

"That's already been accomplished ma'am," Xanthus assured her. "The engineers secured the one at the crash site with thermite and Sergeant Shen secured the other one on the ground floor of this very building with explosives."

The Spartan gave Xanthus a blank stare. "I see Sergeant," she said. "There there's only one thing left to do."

"And what's that ma'am?"

"You need to eliminate me."

There was a notable pause as everyone else in the room took a moment to digest what the Spartan had just said.

"What?" Poblede finally exclaimed. "With all due respect ma'am, we just spent all fucking day looking for you and now that we've found you, we're not just going to kill you."

"You have to," the Spartan insisted. "I, along with the rest of my team, contain too many classified military secrets, secrets I, nor you Corporal, can allow to fall into enemy hands, whether it be Covenant or Insurgent hands."

The Spartan's inflection didn't change, nor did she react in sort of meaningful way, but Moss couldn't help but feel that last part was directed to Norén and he wondered if that was part of the reason for her initial hostility to them.

"We know ma'am," Xanthus was saying. "That's why we need to figure out how to extract, so we can get you back among friendly forces."

"That's no longer an option Sergeant."

"And why the fuck not?" Moss abruptly snapped, his irritation and impatience getting the better of him.

The Spartan fixed him with a blank gaze. "Because I can't walk," she reported and Moss suddenly realized that was what was off about her: her entire lower body, from the waist down, was twisted in an unnatural pose that could only be accomplished by a human being if several dozen major bones were broken, including the hip and spine.

"What happened?" Norén demanded.

"I'm not able to state with any degree of certainty," the Spartan admitted. "But I was most likely injured upon impact with the surface."

"Okay… how bad is it?"

"I lack the proper equipment to determine the full extent of the damage; my self-diagnostic tool was destroyed during the fighting, as was much of my medical equipment. From what I've been able to determine though, I believe I have shattered my innominate bone and more than likely broken the lower half of my vertebral column. Yet, despite all this, I'm currently incapable of feeling anything below my waist, indicated extensive nerve damage. In short, I'm effectively paralyzed from the waist down."

Moss stared at the Spartan in disbelief. Not being well versed in human anatomy, he wasn't sure what half of that meant in the long run, but he did understand "paralyzed from the waist down."

"But all that's repairable, right?" Poblede asked. "With modern technology and science, that's an easy fix, right?"

"Even if it was repairable Corporal, there would still be the issue of getting her back to friendly positions for it to get repaired," Norén pointed out. "If she can't walk, that drastically complicates matters."

"Well, can't we just carry her?" Xanthus suggested but Moss immediately shook his head.

"No dude, I tried that with the other guy. I could barely drag him a few centimeters across the floor, much less pick him up. I'd imagine she's pretty much the same way."

"Our armor alone weighs close to four hundred and fifty kilograms," the Spartan offered.

"Four hundred…!? How do you guys even move? No, you know what? I don't even want to know." Xanthus pinched the bridge of his nose as he let out a sigh.

"Can you remove it?" he finally asked.

"I don't have the necessary equipment to accomplish such a task."

"Of course you don't," Moss muttered to himself.

"Hence the need to eliminate me here, and now," the Spartan said in response, causing Moss to jump. He didn't think she could hear him.

"Look Petty Officer," Norén snapped. "Here's the thing: even if we wanted to eliminate you, we couldn't. Look at us: do we look like we're packing any sort of thermite or explosives?"

"Couldn't you improvise something with the material we have at hand?" Moss asked her. Norén shrugged.

"Probably. If I had a couple of hours to prepare. But I highly doubt we have that much time."

"My suit contains a fail-safe detonation system," the Spartan explained. "Once activated, my suit's fusion reactor will overload, burning everything with a ten meter radius before exploding."

"You're wearing an entire fusion reactor on your body?" Moss exclaimed before pausing. "No wait, wrong question. Better question: if you're so concerned about making sure the Covenant don't get their hands on you, why haven't you used your little self-destruct on yourself yet?"

"Not that I'm saying you should, mind you," he hastily added.

"Unfortunately, due to my injuries, I'm unable to position myself in way that would allow me access to my fail-safe control panel. Therefore, I require your help to activate it," the Spartan explained.

"Hang on a minute. How much time would we have between activation and detonation of your fail-safe?" Norén interrupted.

Perhaps it was Moss' imagination, but he could almost swear he saw the Spartan hesitate for the barest of moments before replying, "Fifteen seconds."

Xanthus let out a low whistle. "Wow. That's not a lot of time to get clear of the blast radius. Alright then." He turned to address Moss and Poblede. "You two are wounded, and probably the slowest amongst us all, so you should start making your way down to the ground floor. The Specialist and I will secure the package, and rally with you outside on the street."

"Wait, hang on a second," Poblede interrupted. "We're actually doing this?"

Xanthus gestured at the Spartan. "You heard her. There's absolutely no way for us to haul her all the way back to friendly positions with the equipment we have, and we can't allow her to fall into Covie hands. If she has a self-destruct, we use it, secure her, then figure out a way to get out of here."

"I don't know about you Sergeant, but I didn't get dragged halfway through the city, get my hand fucking hacked to pieces, just to blow up our objective when we found it," Poblede argued.

"You do realize that was our original mission, right Pip?" Moss pointed out.

"That was when we were supposed to blow up a crash satellite. This now a rescue mission, and we have a survivor," Poblede countered.

"Corporal, you wanted to finish our mission, right?" Norén asked her. "Well, this is it. Unless you've got a better idea, this is the only way to do it."

"I do, actually, have a better idea," Poblede replied. "Our problem is, she's too heavy to carry back to friendly positions, right? Well, we're sitting in the middle of a fucking city. You're telling me there isn't some sort of vehicle around that we could take and _**drive**_ her back?"

Moss opened his mouth of retort, but then immediately closed it as he realized she had a point. He wondered how he managed to overlook that rather simple solution, but decided it was probably because he was tired. He could tell by the expressions on their faces, Norén and Xanthus were thinking the same thing.

"There might be, actually."

Moss jumped in surprise. The Spartan had been so silent, Moss had already forgotten she was still sitting on the ground next to him. Recovering quickly, Moss turned to look at her, a questioning look on his face.

"Once we realized the area was too hot for an ODST rescue team, we knew we were going to have to fight our way out of the area before the inevitable airstrike," the Spartan explained. "Alpha zero one niner left to acquire a transport vehicle for our usage, which he secured in a garage half a block south of our current location. Unfortunately, all communications ceased with him at that point."

"Huh," Moss commented. "No offense ma'am, but maybe that was something you should have mentioned earlier?"

"The problem is, the Covenant have been heavily reinforcing their positions here," the Spartan explained. "They've been steadily landing more troops and equipment. With the increased amount of enemy combat air patrols, any human vehicle moving in this part of city will quickly be spotted and destroyed. With the frontline moving further and further away by the minute, our chances of making it out of occupied territory are greatly diminished."

"What if we don't have to drive all the way back to the frontline?" Poblede suggested. Xanthus turned to her.

"What do you mean?"

"I've been thinking. Forty-five hundred x-ray."

Moss scratched his head. "Huh. That sounds... familiar."

"It should. It's the registration number for the Pelican that brought us down to the surface."

"Pelican... you mean the one that was _shot_ _down_?"

"No, not shot down," Poblede protested. "EMP'ed. But the pilots managed to switch over to secondary systems just a few seconds before we crashed. And Lancelot didn't want us wasting time or explosives trying to destroy it, so we just abandoned it in place."

"Corporal, you suggesting we recover that Pelican and _fly_ back to friendly positions?" Norén asked skeptically.

"Not just back to friendly positions. We could fly back to the fleet in orbit, make sure she gets off this colony and back to someplace like Reach, where she would be _really_ secured. Moss here knows how to fly a Pelican."

Moss started. "No I don't."

Poblede glared at him. "Wasn't that the reason why you kept playing that damn video game? 'It's a simulation, it simulates reality.' Isn't that what you always told me?"

"Well, yeah," Moss said awkwardly, "but it's been hours since we left that bird behind! Who knows what sort of condition it's in now?"

"Only one way to find out," Poblede countered. "And really, what option do we have? At least with this plan, we _all_ have a chance of making it out of here alive."

"Well, sounds like as good of a plan as any," Xanthus announced. "I say we do it. No, better yet, we _are_ doing it."

"Quiet," the Spartan unexpectedly ordered and Moss reflexively obeyed. He sat there in silence, straining his ears, trying to figure out what the Spartan had heard, but he still couldn't really hear all that well with the obnoxious ringing in his ears.

After a few moments, Moss decided he couldn't take it anymore. He opened his mouth to ask, but just as he did so, he heard it: the sound of heavy footsteps clunking against metal steps.

"I read four enemy contacts approaching us." the Spartan whispered.

"How do you know?" Moss heard Poblede asked. The Spartan tapped her helmet.

"Motion tracker," she informed them.

"Specialist, shut the door," Xanthus tersely ordered. "Quietly."

"Sergeant, what are we going to do about the hole in the wall?" Moss hissed as Norén eased the door leading to the room closed. Xanthus shook his head.

"Hope they don't see it," was all he could say. "Ma'am, what sort of contacts should we be expecting?"

"Unknown. But they are enemy signatures, so expect Covenant."

"Shit. Okay, where are they now?"

There was a pause.

"Unknown. They've deployed a radar jammer," the Spartan reported, and Moss could pick up just the barest hint of frustration in her voice.

 _CRASH!_

Moss jumped as the sound of a door getting kicked in filled the air.

"That sounded like the door leading from the stairwell," Norén grimly reported,

Moss turned to Xanthus. "Which room are we in?"

"Second one on the right," Xanthus informed him.

 _CRASH!_

The sound of the door leading to the room next to them filled the air.

"Sounds like they're going room to room," Norén said, hefting the piece of rebar she had chosen for a weapon. "Only a matter of time."

In the dim light, Moss could see Xanthus nervously licking his lips. "Shit. Okay. Specialist, cover the right side of the door, I'll cover the left," Xanthus ordered, drawing out the piece of pointed metal he had salvaged. "Sergeant, you got the SMG. Position yourself a couple of meters behind the door and plant a round into the head of whatever comes through that door."

 _CRASH!_

"Door across the hall," Norén stated.

"Alright. Ma'am, if you still got ammo in that pistol, position yourself behind Sergeant Shen and give him support. Corporal? Stay in the rear. Move!"

Moss quickly moved into his assigned position. Taking out his SMG, he extended the stock so that it would fit snug against his shoulder. Planting his feet firmly on the ground, Moss hunched forward slightly and raised his weapon as Norén and Xanthus took their position on either side of the door. Behind him, he could hear the Spartan dragging herself across the ground into position. They stood there, waiting, for the door to burst open.

"What are they waiting for?" Poblede nervously asked.

Moss had been wondering the same thing himself. He nervously swallowed as he carefully eased his index finger in between the trigger guard.

 _ **KABAM!**_

Moss had just enough time to feel a sense of shock and horror as a Stealth Elite came smashing through the wall separating their room and the next, like the damn Kool-Aid man, before he was hit head on by the Elite. The blow sent shockwaves of pain rippling through his body, and Moss could feel his gun go off as the pain caused his wounded hand to spaz out, leading to him inadvertently pull the trigger. Then he hit ground, the now empty SMG flying out of his hands, the Elite right on top of him.

" _RAAAAAH!_ " the Elite roared and behind him, Moss could hear the sounds of at least another three Elites come bursting into the room, followed by the sounds of fighting, but at that point he stopped paying attention as the Elite wrapped one scaly hand around Moss' neck and started to squeeze. Choking, Moss automatically brought his knees to his chest, trying to get his legs between him and the Elite so he could try to shove him off, but the Elite was just too damn big and strong for him to accomplish that.

Mindful of his rapidly growing oxygen deficiency, Moss hastily switched tactics. He drove his fist into the Elite's throat, to try and stun him, before grabbing hold of the Elite's thumb on the hand holding him down with both hands and yanking upwards, trying to break the digit, or at least cause enough pain to force the Elite to loosen his grip.

The Elite roared in pain but rather than relent, he grabbed Moss' arm with his free hand and wrenched it away before wrapping both his hands around Moss' neck. In desperation, Moss began lashing out with his legs, kicking and shoving the Elite in the waist, while smashing his fist against the Elite's arms, trying to break his hold. Moss felt his leg knock something off of the Elite's hip, which flew through the air and landed on the ground behind them with a mute clatter, but whatever it was, it wasn't enough to distract the Elite and Moss could feel himself growing weaker and weaker.

Then Poblede abruptly appeared out of the darkness. Holding Moss' discarded SMG by the stock with both hands, she swung it like a bat, hitting the Elite right in the mouth with the upper receiver. She hit him so hard, the SMG actually snapped off at the base of the stock.

The Elite's head snapped back and through his NVGs, Moss could see some of the Elite's teeth flying through the air, but all Moss could really think of was how thankful he was Stealth Elites never really sported much in terms of shield strength. Then the pressure disappeared from around his neck and Moss found he could breathe again.

Trying to regain his lost oxygen, Moss struggled up into a sitting position. The Elite had landed on his back on the ground a few decimeters away and Poblede had immediately jumped on him, desperately trying to stab him in the face with the jagged remains of the SMG stock. However, as strong as she was, Moss knew there was no way Poblede could hope to win a hand to hand fight against an alien that was at least three times her weight, so Moss quickly scrambled to his feet.

The Elite had just managed to grab Poblede by the waist and physically throw her off him when Moss' armored boot came flying in. A squirt of purple blood hit the ground as Moss' kick to his mouth caused the Elite's head to snap to the side. Aside from stunning him, Moss could also see the blow had knocked the Elite's helmet loose, and Moss quickly saw his opportunity.

Throwing himself onto the Elite's chest, Moss wrenched the Elite's helmet off and began laying into him. As he hammered blow after blow onto the Elite's face with his fist, Moss noticed the Elite's goggles coming loose and he saw another opportunity to cause serious damage. Ripping the goggles off, Moss grabbed the sides Elite's face with his hands and drove his thumbs right into the Elite's eyeballs. His wounded hand chose that moment to start spazzing out again, so Moss was only able to attack with one hand, but he quickly felt something give way and his thumb was flooded with warm liquid.

The Elite screamed out in pain and Moss was just about to allow a satisfied smirk cross his face when the Elite jabbed Moss right in the jugular with his fingers. Moss still had his mandarin collar on, so the blow didn't do much besides cause a bruise, but the pain was enough to cause Moss to relent for about half a second. That half second through was more than enough time for the Elite to recover, and before Moss could stop him, the Elite wedged his arms between Moss', planted his hands against Moss' chest, and shove him.

The Elite was so strong that Moss was actually thrown straight up into the air. He had just enough time to feel surprised when he felt his back hit the ceiling with enough force to crack the drywall, before he felt his stomach drop and he plummeted straight for the ground. He could see the Elite roll out of the way and Moss had just enough time to cover his face with his arms before he hit the ground, landing heavily on his stomach and forearms.

With the edges of his vision growing hazy, Moss struggled to remain conscious as he looked around for the Elite. He saw him a few centimeters away, blood dripping from his left eye socket, struggling to his feet. As Moss watched, Poblede came running up. She jabbed the broken SMG stock up, right into the Elite's left knee, the jagged end slipping between the edge where his kneepads and shin guard met and into the Elite's flesh. The Elite bellowed in pain and rage, fresh blood leaking from his joint and swung widely at Poblede, who released her hold on the stock and jumped back. The Elite immediately ripped the piece of plastic out and tossed it aside. As he did though, Poblede kicked his leg as hard as she could, causing the leg to buckle, and the Elite dropped to one knee, putting his face in position where Poblede could actually reach it. She immediately went to town, hitting the Elite with an upper cut with her right hand, and then following it up with a left hook. As soon as she hit him though, she immediately began screaming in pain and it took Moss a few seconds to realize why: it appeared, in her haste to engage, she had forgotten about her mutilated left hand, and the blow had caused her stubs to rip open again. The Elite immediate hit her with an open palm strike to her chest and Poblede was blown off her feet. She flew a good meter back through the air, flying through the hole in the wall the Elite had created, and disappeared into the next room.

Moss launched himself at the Elite's back, but the Elite must have heard him coming because, without even looking, he backhanded him. Moss was knocked on his ass and as soon as he hit the ground, he immediately raised his hands to block the kick he instinctively knew was coming. Despite not connecting with his face, the blow was still strong enough to propel Moss across the room. He slid across the floor until he hit the wall on the far side.

Moss struggled to get back onto his feet, but it was a losing battle. At this point, he was completely wiped, having never been trained for this kind of fight. Sure, the Army had taught him some hand to hand combat, but the mentally behind Army Combatives was to distract the enemy long enough for the soldier to recover his weapon and shoot the bastard, not to make the soldier some sort of martial arts master. True of the matter was, even if Moss had been at full strength, this was not a fight he could have won. He simply didn't possess the stamina or the endurance to continue getting the shit beat out of him.

Elites, on the other hand, did. Despite his injuries, the Elite Moss was fighting looked ready to go on for another dozen rounds, and they both knew it. The Elite grinned, which, coupled with his destroyed eye, made him look particularly hideous, then raised his fists. To Moss' surprise, the Elite gestured for him to stand up, and Moss couldn't help but roll his eyes. Fuck, were they really going to do this? Seriously, what did a man have to do around here to die in peace?

Moss placed both his hands on the ground to push himself up but as he did, his right hand touched something round and metal sitting on the ground. He reflexively looked down to see what it was, and it took his exhaustion-riddled brain a few moments to process what he was seeing: it was the hilt of a deactivated energy sword. But where the fuck...?

Almost as one, both Moss and the Elite turned to stare at the Elite's hip where his energy sword should have been. It was missing; the sword must have been what Moss had accidently kicked off when the Elite had Moss pinned down.

Moss and the Elite exchanged glances, and all of a sudden, Moss felt like he was in a western, right in the middle of the climax when the hero and main villain were about to have a draw. Moss stared at the Elite; the Elite stared at Moss. Both beings glared at each other, both daring the other to make a move first. Moss stared at the Elite's face, watching, waiting. He could see the Elite was missing a few teeth from where Poblede had hit him, and he could see blood oozing out from where Moss had stuck his thumb into the Elite's eye. But most of all, Moss could see the sheer amount of hatred the Elite had for him just emanating from his remaining eye which, quite frankly, the sight was kind of intimidating.

Without warning, Moss felt a drop of sweat roll down his forehead and right into his eye. Involuntarily, Moss blinked, and that was when the Elite made his move. Letting out a war cry, the Elite whipped out an energy dagger and leapt straight at Moss' face.

"Oh shit!" Moss stammered out as he seized the energy sword and lifted it. He fumbled around with until he grabbed something that felt like an activation trigger. Praying to whoever was listen that he was pointing the sword in the right direction, Moss closed his eyes and squeezed the trigger.

 _PHCKSH!_

The sound of an energy sword activating was usually enough to send shivers down the spine of even the most battle hardened veteran. But at this moment, that noise was music to Moss' ears. But of course, the fact that he had managed to activate the energy sword wasn't necessarily proof that he had been able to successfully defend himself, so he kept his eyes closed, strangely afraid of what he might see if he opened them. But, after a few moments of where nothing happened, he plucked up the courage to see what was going on.

The Elite's face was less than five centimeters away from his, close enough that his rancid breath filled Moss' nostrils. He was breathing rather heavily, and his face was contorted into an expression of obvious pain. Moss glanced up. The Elite's arm was stretched over his head, the energy dagger buried in the wall mere millimeters above his skull. Moss could feel the barest of burns across running across his bare scalp. Well, that was close. But how close? Moss decided he had to glance down. So he did.

The energy blade had entered the Elite vertically right about where the bottom of the sternum on a human being would be. The superheated, magnetically stabilized plasma blade had cut through the Elite's cuirass like it was made of paper and into the flesh underneath. The sheer heat had instantly caused third degree burns to form on whatever flesh the blade had passed through, which had the unintended effect of cauterizing the blood vessels so there was no internal bleeding, but the pain had to be excruciating. The wound was hardly fatal though, but the Elite made no motion to try and re-engage Moss. In fact, the Elite seemed intent on doing his best not to move a muscle. Moss couldn't figure out why, so he did what came naturally to him: he reached out with his free hand and gave the Elite a light shove. The Elite slipped.

The plasma blade stayed in the same place. The Elite, on the other hand, continued to fall. As he fell, the blade cut right through him, like a hot knife through jello, cleanly slicing through armor, bone, and flesh alike until the blade emerged through the top of the his skull. The Elite hit the ground, cut vertically in half, from the bottom half of his torso and straight up through the center of his head.

As the two halves of the Elite clattered to the ground and the acrid scent of melted metal and charred flesh filled his nostrils, stinging his eyes, all Moss could do was gape at the sheer destructiveness of the weapon in his hands. He slowly released the trigger and the energy blade dissipated.

"Holy fuck," Moss stammered as soon as he found his words, staring at the energy sword in astonishment. "Where have you been all my life? No wonder Elites love hand to hand combat so much. How come we don't get weapons like this!?"

The sound of shattering drywall reminded Moss he wasn't out of the woods just yet. He looked around the room to see who needed his help and was astonished by what he saw. The Spartan was at the back of the room, fighting off two other Stealth Elites. Despite being injured and outnumbered, the Spartan was not only holding her own, but actually winning. One of the Elites was missing his helmet, revealing a fist-sized bruise around his left eye. The other had a palm-sized hole in the middle of his cuirass. Both Elites were covered in bruises and fresh blood was leaking from a number of small cuts. In contrast, outside of her initial wounds, the Spartan looked no worse for wear.

At the moment, the Spartan was sitting on Cuirass Elite's shoulders, slamming her right elbow down onto the top of his head. As Moss sat there and watched, Cuirass managed to reach up and grab her by the top of her helmet and throw her off his shoulders, but as the Spartan flew through the air, she flipped around and delivered an upper cut punch straight into Cuirass's lower jaw. As Cuirass staggered back, the Spartan hit the ground and immediately rolled to the side as Helmetless Elite brought his foot down hard enough to break the floorboards, trying his best to stomp the Spartan to death. The Spartan quickly rolled back and drove her fist right into Helmetless' knee, and Moss could hear the shriek of metal as Helmetless' kneepad instantly gave way.

Rolling into a sitting position, the Spartan immediately raised her hands to protect herself from the vicious kick Cuirass delivered at her face. But rather than deflect or even block the blow, the Spartan caught the kick and somehow managed to use the momentum to launch herself backwards through the air. She flew into Helmetless who, out of reflex, caught her in a bridal carry, and the Spartan immediately wrapped her arm around the back of the Elite's head and flipped herself forward. Caught off guard by the sudden weight and motion, Helmetless pitched forward and as he fell, the Spartan managed to flip him over her shoulder. He went crashing into Cuirass and they landed on the ground in a tangled heap as the Spartan hit the ground. Without stopping to even take a breath, the Spartan lifted herself into a handstand and began 'running' across the ground on her hands toward the aliens. She looked absolutely ridiculous doing so, but Moss' amusement quickly turned to astonishment when he remembered she was paralyzed from the waist down.

Reaching the Elites just as they recovered, the Spartan began spinning around on her hands, her useless legs flailing through the air. One of her legs caught Helmetless right in the face and while the blow probably wasn't as bad as it could have been if the Spartan actually kicked him, the impact was still hard enough to knock him right back to the ground. The other Elite managed to duck under the spinning limbs and dropped down with a leg sweep, trying to take out the Spartan's arms, but the Spartan shoved herself off the ground into the air and leaped over the blow. As the Spartan fell back to the ground, she brought both her heels down hard on the skull of the astonished Elite. There was a loud _crack_ as Cuirass's helmet gave way, splitting in half.

As Moss watched the fight unfold, he suddenly realized what Volkov had meant when he said Spartans were "indescribable." Compared to Moss' fight just a few minutes ago, it was clear the Spartan was fighting on an entirely different level, one that Moss could only dream of achieving. The Spartan was moving with such a fluidity and swiftness, the likes of which Moss had only seen in expertly choreographed and professionally edited action films. It was almost like she knew exactly what the Elites were going to do, before they did it. The fact the Spartan was managing to accomplish such a fight, while _paralyzed from the waist down_ , made the fight all that much more impressive.

Moss didn't know how long he sat there, watching, but then a pained scream from behind him reminded him the Spartan wasn't the only one in the room and she clearly didn't need his help. Turning towards the door, he spot Xanthus, who was busy fighting off the last Stealth Elite. Xanthus was welding a piece of rebar and was desperately swinging it, trying to hit the Elite, but the Elite kept dodging and weaving. Even as Moss watched, Xanthus swung the rebar like a bat, but the Elite quickly ducked under the blow. Before Xanthus could recover, the Elite seized Xanthus by the waist and full body slammed him to the ground. Xanthus hit the ground with a tremendous _CRASH,_ knocking the wind out of him, but the Elite wasn't done yet. Grabbing Xanthus by the neck, the Elite slammed him back-first into a nearby wall. Wrapping both hands around Xanthus' throat, the Elite lifted him straight up and held him there, pinned against the wall and getting choked to death. At that, Moss decided to intervene.

 _PHCKSH!_

Xanthus landed on the ground with a small _thump,_ coughing violently and massaging his neck, trying to regain his breath as he was abruptly released. Meanwhile, the Elite stumbled back, staring and screaming in shock at the glowing stumps of where his arms used to be. At that, Moss took another moment to admire the absolutely devastating weapon he had managed to capture. The energy sword had passed right through the Elite's arms like they weren't even there, amputating both of them just below the elbows with the lightest of swings.

Grinning like a maniac, Moss turned this attention back to the Elite. The Elite let out a small choking noise as Moss drove the sword straight into his stomach. The smell of burning flesh drowned out all other scents as Moss slowly withdraw the blade, and the Elite dropped to his knees with a heavy thump. He swayed, but didn't fall, so Moss grabbed the hilt with both hands and swung the sword horizontally through the air. The Elite's severed head toppled to the ground, slipping out of the helmet as it hit the ground, and Moss allowed the sword to deactivate, grunting as he kicked the now headless corpse to the ground.

"Xanthus, you all right?" Moss asked as he ran over to help Xanthus. He glanced at Xanthus' face and winced. Xanthus was a mess. His entire face was already black and blue, his left eye had already started to swell closed, and his nose had not only been broken, it had pretty much been shattered, spewing blood all over his chest. Xanthus began coughing, and he leaned over to the side and violently spat out a mouthful of blood. Among it, Moss could see a couple of this teeth. Clearly, his fight against the Elite had not gone well. Nevertheless, Moss knew it could have gone much worse: Xanthus didn't appear to have any broken bones.

"Whoa, take it easy!" he ordered as Xanthus started to climb to his feet. "Don't rush it, give it some time!"

"Where's the Spartan?" Xanthus managed to gasp out between coughs.

In response, Moss gestured to the back of the room where one of the Elites was dead, his head jammed in-between the floorboards. Meanwhile, the Spartan was laying on her back with the other Elite laying on top of her. She had one arm wrapped around his forehead, holding him tight, while her other hand was enclosed around the Elite's throat. A ripping noise filled the air, reminding Moss of the sound of a piece of fabric getting torn in half, and he winced as the Spartan calmly tore the Elite's throat right out from his neck. The Elite let out a gurgling noise as he began convulsing, dark purple blood spewing out from his wound, and the Spartan casually shoved the dying alien off her. She sat up to see Moss and Xanthus staring at her, with matching expressions of fascination and horror, and she gave a small shrug as if to say, "What?"

"That was a little… excessive," Moss couldn't help comment as he helped Xanthus to his feet.

"Who cares," was the Spartan's blunt reply. "We need to move. More Covenant are undoubtedly on their way."

"Right…" Moss turned to Xanthus. "We go find that vehicle?"

"Go find that vehicle," Xanthus ordered. "Take Corporal Poblede with you. I'll help the Spartan try and figure out how to get her out of that armor of hers so we can get her down the stairs."

Moss very reluctantly held up the energy sword. "Try this. It seems to cut through metal pretty well."

"Thanks, but I'll get my own."

Xanthus walked over to the Elite he'd been fighting and swooped down to retrieve the sword from the corpse's hip. "It's a good thing they didn't use these weapons against, huh? Would have been a lot shorter fight."

"They were probably under orders to take us alive," Moss suggested. He pointed at the Spartan. "It sounds like they definitely want her alive at least."

"Could be. You better get going."

"Right. Pip?"

Moss heard her groan as she walked back into the room, holding her ribs. "You alright?"

"Still breathing now I guess but fuck," she groaned. "Think I broke a couple ribs. That Elite hits like a fucking truck."

"Yeah, well, it's a good thing he was about as wide as one. Probably helped defuse some of that energy," Moss pointed out, shaking off his arms as the pain from blocking the Elite's kick suddenly hit him. "Come on, we got to go."

He started limping towards Poblede, but then paused and glanced around the room. "Wait a minute. Where's Norén?"

"Moss."

Moss froze, because he was pretty sure this was the first time Norén had _ever_ used his first name. He slowly turned around.

Norén was sitting on the ground in the corner to the right of the door. She looked rather pale, and both her hands were tightly gripping her stomach. Moss stared at her, not understanding, until he noticed the dark spot on her shirt that was slowly growing. Norén coughed.

"Fuck," she weakly groaned. "Always knew the UNSC was going to kill me someday."

And just like that, Moss suddenly realized where his last bullet had gone.

"Oh shit!" Moss threw himself to the ground next to Norén and began checking her over. "Xanthus, I need some light! Find me some light! Pip, starting searching those bodies for some medkit I can use!" he frantically ordered. "Hang on Norén! You're going to be all right! Where's my light god dammit!?"

He tried to pry Norén's hands away so he could see the extent of damage the bullet had done, but Norén's groan of pain quickly discouraged him.

"How bad is it?" Moss asked her, trying to look around her hands though given how saturated her shirt had become, it didn't look good. "Pip! I need that medkit!"

Abruptly, Moss suddenly remembered he still had a can of biofoam left in his IFAK and whipped the can out.

"Hang on Norén," Moss repeated as he struggled to remove the nozzle. Unfortunately, his hand was shaking too much and in the process, he inadvertently tore the nozzle off. "Fuck. Fuck! Pip! Give me a knife! Or... or... or something sharp enough I can puncture the side! Hurry up!"

A hand suddenly grabbed his and he looked down to see Norén gently forcing him to lower the can.

"It's okay Moss. I think I'm done," she breathlessly whispered. "Yeah... I think I'm done."

Moss stared at her in disbelief as her hand slipped off his, leaving bloody streaks all over his sleeve.

"Norén, I..." Moss began before the enormity of events suddenly stuck him, and a wave of emotions came washing over him: fear, anger, despair... guilt. He felt his eyes begin to burn and his throat constrict, making it even harder to breath than when the Elite had been choking the life out of him minutes ago. There was a whole host of things Moss wanted to say to her, but Moss found he just couldn't find the words to say any of it.

"Norén, I'm sorry," he finally choked out.

"For what?" Norén asked, her voice sounding surprisingly strong.

For letting you down. For not being able to lead you home. For not being able to save you, Moss wanted to say, but none of that seemed to truly convey the extent of his guilt.

"For not being able to help you kill more of these sons of bitches," Moss finally said. "For... For not being able to help you avenge your homeworld."

Moss felt some warm slide down his cheek, but he refused to take his eyes off Norén. She was fading fast. Her skin had a pale waxy look to it, and her breath was coming out in short spurts. Despite the cold, Norén was sweating profusely, and she could no longer keep her head straight.

Abruptly, Moss realized Norén was trying to say something, and he quickly leaned in to hear her.

"It was never... about... revenge..." she whispered into his ear. A weak smile appeared on her face as Moss stared at her in surprise. Then her smile became rather fixed as her eyelids wavered before gently closing. Her hands slid off her stomach and landed in her lap, and her head drooped forward.

"Norén?" Moss whispered. "Norén?"

He reached out and put two fingers on her neck, searching for a pulse. There wasn't one.

"Shit!" Moss yelped. "I got no heartbeat! She's gone into cardiac arrest!" Grabbing her by the shoulder, Moss gently eased Norén to the ground, laying her on her back. "I need to administer CPR! Someone, give me some goddamn light!"

Putting both hands over her heart, Moss began pushing down. "Thirty compressions to the chest," Moss muttered to himself as he worked. "Following by two ventilation breaths to the mouth."

Pinching Norén's nose closed and pulling her mouth open, Moss blew twice into Norén's mouth, trying to force oxygen into her lungs. He then placed his ear over her heart, willing upon willing he would hear something.

There was nothing.

"Okay, don't panic Moss," Moss told himself as he sat back up. "Never works the first time. Thirty more chest compressions."

He began pumping again, and it just about took all his effort not to panic when he heard a mute _snap_ as he felt one of Norén's ribs break under his hands.

"That's a good sign," he tried to remind himself. "Means you're pushing hard enough. Two ventilation breaths, come on."

He blew twice into Norén's mouth and again place his ear into her chest. Nothing.

"Come on Norén!" Moss yelled as he began chest compressions again. "Just breathe, dammit! You can do it! Come on!"

He leaned over to do ventilation breaths again when someone grabbed his shoulder.

"Moss," he heard Poblede say, but he shrugged her hand off and ignored her. He placed his head on Norén's chest again, and again he failed to hear a heartbeat. He sat up to do more chest compressions, but Poblede grabbed his shoulder again.

"Moss, we got to go, we got to go," she whispered to him as Moss continue with the chest compressions. "Moss, Norén's gone!"

"No no," Moss frantically said as he worked. "I can save her. Just need to keep working!"

"Sergeant!"

Moss jerked and looked up, noticing for the first time the tears streaming down Poblede's face.

"She's gone, we got to go," she was urging, her eyes full of grief and regret. "You can't do any more for her Moss, you have to leave her. We need to leave, right now!"

Moss stared at her blankly, and then glanced down at Norén. She was laying there, looking more like a mannequin than an actual person, with her arms folded across her stomach a serene look on her face, and Moss was stuck with the realization that he had never seen her more at peace. And then he realized Poblede was right: Norén was gone, and there was nothing left he could do for her.

Numbly, Moss reached down and removed her tags from around her neck. Then, impulsively, he also lifted her arms so they were crossed over her chest, not her stomach. He then stood up, feeling dazed, like he'd just been punched in the face. He was immediately confronted by Xanthus, who looked at him with a sympathetic look on his face, but didn't comment. Instead, he handed Moss a plasma rifle.

"Covie weapon for you Sergeant. Careful, it's heavier than it looks," he warned as Moss numbly took the offered weapon. "I got to trigger the Spartan's self-destruct, but I need you guys to get clear of the building before I do so. You think you can carry the Spartan out of here on your back? She should be a lot lighter without her armor."

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder and Moss absentmindedly followed the gesture, noticing for the first time the Spartan had managed to extract herself from her armor. She had cut everything off, creating a pile of glowing metal on the ground and leaving her clad in some sort of skintight bodysuit. She had also removed her helmet for the first time, revealing a surprisingly youthful face with Hispanic features, black hair that had buzzed in a military style haircut, and a skin tone that was so pale, it caused Moss to involuntarily shudder as it reminded him of how Norén currently looked.

Moss quickly looked away, forcing himself to focus on Xanthus, who was patiently waiting for a response. Moss nodded.

"Okay. Ma'am, I need you to lead the way. Sergeant, take them down the block, secure our ride, and wait for me there. Corporal? Watch their backs. As soon as you're clear, fire a round from your rifle to signal you're safe and I'll try to join you as quickly as I can. Go."

"Copy that Sergeant," Poblede quietly replied. "Come on Moss."

Grabbing a hold of Moss' arm, she led him to the back of the room where the Spartan was waiting. With Poblede's help, Moss was able to lift the Spartan up and toss her onto his shoulders in a fireman's carry without looking at her face. She was surprisingly heavy, even without her armor, probably weighing nearly twice as much as Moss did, but he was beyond caring at this point.

Exiting the room through the hole in the wall so he didn't have to look at Norén anymore, he headed down the stairs and out the building.

"Take a left," the Spartan ordered and Moss dumbly obeyed. He stumbled down the street, focusing on nothing else but the Spartan's voice in his ear.

"Keep going another fifty meters," she ordered.

"Stop, this is it."

Moss stopped at a building at the corner of the next intersection and waited as Poblede lifted her plasma pistol and fired a shot into the air. A few moments later, Moss could see a figure come sprinting out of the building they had just left, running like the bats of hell were chasing him. Seconds later, a loud explosion shattered the silence of the street and the walls on the second floor abruptly blew out. Already damaged by Moss' earlier bomb, this second explosion proved to be the last straw. The roof of the building began to buckle, before sagging inwards as that corner of the building collapsed. Fire, presumably started by the Spartan's failsafe, began consuming what was left. In the glow casted by the flames, Moss watched as Xanthus came running up.

"Objective secured," he reported, panting.

Moss opted not to respond. Instead, he stared as the fire began spreading through the entire building, consuming everything in its path.

Including Norén's body.

"Come on guys," Xanthus finally said. "Let's get the fuck out of here."

Moss silently turned to follow in Xanthus' path but as he did, his mind was ablazed with thoughts. They had started this mission off with twenty-five soldiers. Now, there were only three of them. How much longer before there were only two of them left? Or one?

Or none?

* * *

General Notes:

Friendly fire – isn't

Negligent discharges are unfortunately a real and common thing with firearms. I don't have any actual statistics in front of me, but I'd hazard a guess and say that 99% of them are the result of operator error, rather than any sort of mechanic issue with the firearm in question. When dealing with _any_ firearm, remember the four golden rules (as provided by the United States Marine Corps)

 **Always** treat every weapon as if it were loaded

 **Never** point the weapon at anything you do not intent to shoot

 **Always** keep your finger straight and off the trigger until you intend to fire

 **Always** keep the weapon on safe until you intend to fire

And then one more rule not mentioned by the USMC but I think is just as important

 **Always** be sure of your target and what's beyond it (because a bullet won't always stop when it hits the target.)

Anyways, a bit of Spartan action. I'm sure some of you would have liked to see more, but unfortunately that's going to be the extent of it because A) I suck at writing hand to hand combat scenes, B) seeing as how all my fight knowledge comes from movies, TV shows, and games, I have no idea how someone paralyzed from the waist down would actually be able to fight, and C) if the Maria-062 was actually at full strength, then there would be no point to this story because I can't really imagine a scenario where a Spartan team would need to be rescued by a bunch of NPCs (well, aside from the scenario I've postulated in the story so far.)

Hope you guys enjoyed, I'll see you all again in two weeks.


	14. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Moss watched as Xanthus slam the base of his stolen plasma rifle down on the door handle, breaking the lock. Grabbing the door, he ripped it open and held it as Moss and Poblede eased into the room.

"We need to move," Xanthus said as he eased into the room, sliding the door shut behind him. "That fire is going to act like a giant beacon for just about every single damn Covie in this sector of the city so let's find this vehicle and - whoa."

Xanthus trailed off as he turned around and noticed the vehicle that KAI-019 had secured, the one that both Moss and Poblede were currently staring at. Sitting in the middle of the room and taking up all the space was a single Armadillo IFV.

M432 "Armadillo" infantry fighting vehicles were armored vehicles designed to transport squads of infantry safety across active battlefields while also providing them with direct fire support. Built on top of slightly modified Scorpion tank chassis, Armadillos were roughly the same size and weight as a main battle tank, though Armadillos were slightly longer to accommodate a larger crew compartment. Utilizing the same engine and suspension system an Grizzly MBT, Armadillos were capable of traveling and maneuvering through the same type of conditions tanks could expect to encounter, though Armadillos possessed a little less armor. Nor did they possess the same amount of firepower, lacking the dual 120mm cannons found on Army's Grizzlies or even the high velocity 90mm cannon found on Scorpions. That being said, Armadillos were not defenseless, possessing a remote turret that was armed with an M8545 40mm autocannon, a M247 coaxial machine gun, a M247 medium machine gun mounted on the crew hatch, a dual-barreled Argent V missile launcher mounted on the right side of the turret capable of targeting both air and ground targets, and two four barreled smoke grenade launchers on either side of the turret. Crewed by two men, the Armadillo was also capable of carrying a full, nine man infantry squad in its crew compartment.

"Holy shit. What, were you expecting to fight off the entire Covenant Army by yourselves?" Xanthus asked the Spartan, sounding incredulous. "No wonder you didn't think you'd be able to make it back to the front without getting engaged by enemy CAPs."

"We knew the Covenant would be sending heavily armed hunter teams after us, so we felt we needed all the firepower we could obtain," the Spartan reported with what sounded like a verbal shrug.

"Well, we might as well use the firepower now," Xanthus said with a shake of his head. "Come on."

They walked to the back of the Armadillo where the ramp into the troop compartment was located. The ramp had already been lowered, which was fortunate as Moss would no idea how to open it otherwise. As they walked around the IFV, they were forced to step over the frozen bodies of several Covenant soldiers; clearly the acquisition of the Armadillo had not come without protest from the Covenant. Moss noticed a couple sword welding Elite Ultras among the dead, and he wondered if one of them had struck the killing blow on Kai.

Awkwardly maneuvering into the vehicle, Moss carefully eased the Spartan down onto one of the available benches while Xanthus headed towards the front of the Armadillo. Poblede, on the other hand, paused at the entrance of the ramp to conduct one final sweep of the room they were in. Once she was satisfied everything was cleared, then she began climbing into the Armadillo but as she did, the ramp began closing behind her and she nimbly ducked into the vehicle to avoid getting crushed. The ramp closed with an ominous _clang_ , plunging the interior into darkness.

"Found the ramp controls," Xanthus announced from the driver's seat.

"Great. Can you find the lights?" Poblede asked.

Noticing a lamp located on the ceiling just behind the turret ring through his NVGs, Moss reached out and switched it on, wincing as the crew compartment was flooded with blinding white light. Flicking the switch the other way, he relaxed as a much less painful red light filled the room.

"Thanks," Poblede said, popping down into the bench across from the Spartan with a mute sigh, and promptly began fussing with the bandages covering her wounded hand.

"Hey Sergeant, come up here."

Easing himself past the ammunition cans and feed chutes for the main cannon and coax, Moss leaned against the back of the driver's seat where Xanthus was seated.

"So, I'm pretty sure I can drive this tin can," Xanthus reported. "Controls look almost identical to those on a Warthog; thank you military standardization. The problem is, I don't know where I'm going. We came down to the surface on different aircraft. I don't have a clue where your Pelican landed. Do you?"

Moss automatically glanced at Poblede.

"If I had a map," she said after a moment's thought. "I could probably get us close enough."

"There should be a blue force tracker at the squad leader station," the Spartan said from the back, pointing at a seat to the left of the Armadillo just behind the turret.

Moss watched as Poblede climbed into the seat and pushed a series of buttons mounted on the wall. A hologram sprang into existence, and Moss watched as Poblede scroll through several images before she announced, "Ah. There we are. Okay, I think I know where we need to go."

Xanthus nodded before glancing upwards at Moss. "Well, I guess that means you're our gunner."

Moss gave a single nod. Putting his plasma rifle on the ground, he climbed into the gunner's seat and pulled the seat up until he was positioned directly behind the control panel sticking out from the wall. Finding a safety harness attached to the seat, Moss strapped himself in before studying the controls. They seemed pretty self-explanatory. Sitting right in the middle of the panel was a joystick with a trigger on the back, probably to control and fire the turret. Surrounding the joystick were a large amount of knobs and buttons. Fortunately, they all appeared to be labeled. Directly above the joystick was a large screen, presumably to display the outside. Just above the screen were three periscope that gave him at least a good 180 degree view of the exterior, though he currently couldn't see anything as it was too dark outside. Just above that, positioned right over his head, was a hatch to the top of the Armadillo, presumably to allow access to the M247 GPMG mounted on the roof.

Turning his attention back to his monitor, Moss managed to locate the "on" switch and flicked it on, only to be met with a black screen. At first, Moss though the screen was broken, but then he realized no, it was just pitch black outside. Scanning the buttons on the side, Moss found one that read "FLIR" and hit it. At once, the screen lit up, though there wasn't much to see as the Armadillo was currently facing a brick wall. Just as an experiment, Moss played with a joystick and watched on the screen as the turret turned right, then left, and then up and down.

"Okay, everyone set?" he heard Xanthus ask from the driver's seat. In the dim light, Moss could see him reaching and hitting a switch. At once, the Armadillo came to life. "Keep in mind this is my first time driving this thing, so, um, you might want to strap yourselves in because this might get bumpy."

"We're all set back here Sergeant," Poblede reported.

"Okay. All external lights off. Make sure all the hatches are closed."

Moss glanced over his head to make his was shut and locked.

"Okay then. Anyone see a way out of here?"

"Just drive through the wall Staff Sergeant," the Spartan ordered.

Moss could hear Xanthus lick his lips. "Well, here goes nothing then."

Moss braced himself as Xanthus jammed down on the accelerator. There was a loud shriek of metal on concrete as the Armadillo surged forward. Moss involuntarily winced as he watched through his display as the Armadillo smashed into the brick wall with a loud _CRASH_. The wall crumbled as the sixty some tonne armored vehicle smashed into it, making a hole. The Armadillo started creeping through the hole and got about halfway through when it stopped, and for a moment, Moss was concerned they had somehow gotten stuck, but then Xanthus gunned the engine and the Armadillo surged out of the building and out onto the street.

"Sorry everyone, still trying to figure out which gear I should be in," Xanthus apologized. "Which way Corporal?"

"Take a right and go straight for like, three hundred meters," Poblede reported.

"Right. Eyes up everyone. The Covenant should have attacked us already and the fact they haven't is making me nervous. Sergeant, watch the right, Corporal, watch the left. Stay frosty!"

Moss panned the turret so he was facing his assigned sector, and starting searching for enemy movement, but he found it hard to focus. He couldn't stop thinking about Norén. The shock was beginning to wear off and the guilt was beginning to set in.

In truth, Moss couldn't help but feel guilty for all his squad's deaths. Intellectually, he knew he was being irrational. A lot of the deaths were outside his control. Griffin, for example. While part of Moss couldn't help but feel if he had just been a bit harsher on Griffin, acting more like his squad leader than a friend and forcing Griffin to be more alert to his surroundings, Griffin would still be alive, the cold hard rational part of brain knew that Griffin's death was pretty much unavoidable. While Moss still couldn't remember the exact details of the attack, given the opposition they were currently facing, there was strong evidence to suggest they had been attacked by Stealth Elites which meant, even if Griffin had been at full alert, he still wouldn't have seen the attack coming until it was too late.

And then there was Roer. In contrast to Griffin, Moss' emotional side couldn't help but wonder if he'd been _too_ harsh on Roer. Maybe if he hadn't blown off Roer's concerns about his family, maybe if he'd been more sympathetic, maybe if he hadn't flat out told Roer he had to give up hope on his family, Roer wouldn't have felt the need to desert. Maybe then, Roer would still be alive. And yes, while Moss was still clinging onto the hope that Roer was still alive, realistically, he knew Roer was never coming back. Just like how realistically, he also knew that Roer's desertion wasn't his fault. Roer had made his decision, and there was nothing Moss could have done about it.

Norén's death, on the other hand, was completely and utterly his fault.

Moss replayed the scene of her death over and over in his head, trying to figure out what went wrong and what he could have done different, and he could only think of one thing: he should have been more alert. He should have been more alert as to where his weapon was pointed at. He should have been more alert as to where his trigger finger was. He should have also realized the Elites probably had motion trackers of their own and so should have realized when they moved into their defensive positions, they had instantly given their location away. Moss should have realized the Elites would have been too smart to come charging the door, as it was the most obviously point of attack, and that they would have found another way into the room. Moss should have been more alert to the noises he had heard coming from the room beside them instead of dismissing them as noises in his head. And when those Elites came bursting into the room, Moss shouldn't have frozen up like that. He should have reacted faster.

You were exhausted after a long day of fighting, his brain tried to point out, but Moss shook his head.

It didn't matter how tired he was. He was a Paratrooper, dammit, not some shitty Leg, Provincial Militia, rear-echelon motherfucking, wannabe, pretend soldier! He was better than that. _Should_ have been better than that.

Moss could feel the corner of his eyes prickling, and he hastily wiped away his tears with his sleeve. Of course he would be crying now like a fucking pussy.

"Moss. Hey, are you still with us?"

Moss jerked in his seat and glanced down to see Poblede hovered beside him, looking at him with a concerned look on her face. He hurriedly finished wiping his face down before turning to her.

"Yeah, I'm still breathing," he told her, doing his best to keep his voice from wavering, trying to maintain a brave face. She frowned.

"That wasn't what I was talking about, and you know it," she accused him.

Moss sighed, hating for the moment Poblede knew him so well.

"I don't know," he finally admitted. "Not sure… Not sure I want to think about it right now."

"But you're not able to _not_ think about it, are you?"

Moss grimaced and shot her a sideways glance. "You know, sometimes I wish I was an AI. That I could shut off my emotions anytime I wanted to with a simple flick of a switch. That I didn't have to feel. You ever feel that way?"

"Not really, no," Poblede admitted. "Having emotions is what makes us human Moss. It's what makes us real. Emotions is kind of like being in a relationship; got to have the bad so you can know when you've got the good, you know what I'm saying?"

"I guess," Moss said with a shrug. "I'm just… I'm having a hard time trying to see what good came out of Norén's death."

Moss could see Poblede studying his face very carefully.

"You know it wasn't your fault, right?" she abruptly told him.

Moss couldn't help but let out a derisive snort. "You're kidding, right? You were there, weren't you? Whose finger was on the trigger when she got shot?"

"Yours was," Poblede stated rather bluntly. "But the circumstances we were in? That's not on you; that was out of your control. And under the circumstances, I think you're doing better than anyone could have expected, including you."

Moss shook his head. "I get that you're trying to absolve me of my guilt Pip, but that's not really up to you to decide. That's Norén's decision, and I don't think she'd be as forgiving as you are."

"I disagree. I think she would understand. You did after all, give her a reason to keep fighting."

Moss shot her a look, puzzled. "What are you talking about? What did I give her?"

"You were her friend," was all Poblede said.

"So what?"

"Seriously? You never noticed how lonely she was?"

Moss shook his head and Poblede sighed.

"You know she never fit in from the first day she was assigned to our squad, right? The squad... _we_ always treated her with suspicion. She was an Innie, and you don't trust Innies. They are the bad guys; never know when they were going to stab you in the back. But you? You treated her the same way you treated everyone else. You listened to her, you respected her, and you stood up for her. You were willing to trust her, and I think that meant a lot to her in end."

Poblede regretfully shook her head. "Of course, you know what the ironic thing is? All our distrust of her was a bunch of wasted effort: even if she did want to go back to the Innies, I don't think she could have. If those two dumbass militiamen were anything to go by, Norén would have been considered by her Innie pals to be as much as a traitor as we regarded her. Which would have made your actions all the more significant."

Moss squirmed uncomfortably in his seat as Poblede trailed off. He knew Poblede was doing her best to make him feel better but in many ways, what she said just made his feel worse. Fortunately, it was at that point Xanthus suddenly spoke up.

"Sorry to interrupt guys," he said apologetically. "But we've got a traffic circle up ahead and I got to know which way to turn."

Poblede sighed and patted Moss on the shoulder before crawling back to her seat.

"Take a left into the circle and then take the second exit," she finally reported.

"Left into the circle, second exit," Xanthus repeated as he entered the circle. He turned left and Moss winced as he immediately smashed into an abandoned car sitting in the middle of the road. The Armadillo easily rolled over it, but just as they cleared the wreckage, Xanthus promptly smashed into another one.

"Could you try and not hit every single car on the road?" Poblede commented.

"I can't do a damn thing about where these driver's abandoned their cars," Xanthus grumbled. "But hey, at least there's no inside them, so it's not like we're killing anyone."

 _CLANG!_

Moss jumped as something hit the right side of the Armadillo and exploded, fortunately causing no damage but to nerves. He grabbed the yoke and panned the turret to the right and quickly spotted the source of the gunfire: a patrol of Covenant soldiers making their way towards the roundabout from the road on the right. It was a small group; Moss spotted four Grunts led by a single Elite carrying a concussion rifle.

"Contact, right flank!" Moss yelled out a warning. He spotted a muzzle flash as the Elite fired again. "Incoming! Break left!"

Xanthus promptly spun his steering wheel and the Armadillo turned left, mounting the sidewalk and Moss could hear the concrete sidewalk cracking under the weight of the vehicle. A light pole came crashing down to the ground as Xanthus accelerated across the sidewalk, but Moss was no longer paying attention. He watched as the first three projectiles shot right by them, missing them by mere centimeters, but the Elite quickly adjusted his aim. Moss winced as the Elite fired another three shots, this time aimed at the Armadillo's now exposed rear.

"Incoming!" he bellowed.

 _CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!_

Moss winced as all three shots connected with the Armadillo, and he glanced into the back of the crew compartment, expecting to see a bunch of melted metal and a big hole, but all he saw was a nervous looking Poblede and a stoic Spartan. Almost no damaged had been done to the Armadillo which Moss couldn't help but be surprised by. He knew Armadillos had a lot of armor, but in hindsight, he supposed he had never really considered what that had meant in practice. Only one concussion round was enough to kill or disable an entire squad of infantry out in the open; three consecutive blast to the same spot would have annihilated a Warthog utility vehicle. But on an Armadillo? Apparently all it did was scratch the paint.

"Dude! What the fuck!" Xanthus yelled from the driver's seat. "Shoot back! Shoot!"

Moss started, having momentarily forgotten he was the gunner. Grabbing his control yoke, he yanked it to the right and watched through his monitor as the turret panned around until his crosshairs fell over the Elite, who was in the middle of reloading, and turned red. Moss pulled the trigger.

 _Click._

"What the fuck?" Moss exclaimed as the main cannon failed to fire. He glanced at the ammo counter on his HUD to make sure the main cannon was loaded, then looked over his shoulder at the ammunition feed chute to make sure there wasn't a jam of sorts. It was, and there wasn't, so Moss hastily glanced over his control panel, trying to figure out why his weapons wouldn't fire. Then he noticed a section of controls labeled "Gun Select." In the middle, there was a simple toggle switch, surrounded by three lights. The light above the switch was labeled "Main," while the light below the switch was labeled "Coax," and finally, the light just to the left of the switch was labeled "Safe." The "Safe" light was lit up while the "Main" and "Coax" lights weren't.

Reaching out, Moss flicked the switch so that it was pointed towards "Main," and watched the bulb light up while at the same time, the "Safe" light faded away. Grabbing his control yoke, Moss re-acquired his targeted and pulled the trigger.

Moss watched in astonishment as a tracer round, appearing as a bright white streak in his thermals, exit the muzzle of his barrel and streak across the traffic circle, catching the Elite right in the face. The 40mm autocannon round cut right through the Elite's shield like it wasn't even there, and took the Elite's head clean off his shoulders, and continue travelling down the street until it disappeared from view.

"Whoa," Moss muttered to himself. "Definitely should have joined the Armored Corps Moss. Can't do _that_ with a parachute."

Spotting a dial that would allow him to zoom in his optics, Moss turned it so the image of the remaining Covenant soldiers filled his monitor. The Grunts were on the verge of panicking, as expected, but instead of running away, Moss watched as one of them, a Grunt Ultra by the looks of it, toss his plasma pistol away and begin scrambling towards the fallen concussion rifle. Oh boy.

Hurriedly leveling his crosshairs, Moss fired, tearing a wicked looking gash in the pavement as he somehow missed, and the Grunt speedily scrambled upright with the recovered concussion rifle in his arms. Just as he leveled it though, Moss' second round caught him smack-dab in the middle of the chest and Moss couldn't help but let out a bark of laughter as the Grunt exploded into tiny pieces. Fuck, screw the energy sword. Why bother giving the enemy a chance to fight back when he could just pick them off from a distance?

Seeing the remaining Grunts begin to scatter in alarm, Moss switched over to the coax to save ammo. Jiggling the control yoke, Moss held down the trigger and began hosing down the area.

 _RATATAT! RATATAT! RATATAT!_

"Target destroyed," Moss announced as all three of remaining Grunts collapsed to the ground in shreds. He panned the turret left and right, searching for more targets.

"Nice," Xanthus distractedly commented. "Where are we going Corporal?"

"Go straight for five blocks, then take a right," Poblede reported.

"Straight five blocks, then –"

A series of plasma bolts passed right over the Armadillo.

"Contact rear!" Moss bellowed as four Type-32 "Ghost" reconnaissance vehicles, each piloted by a single Elite soldier, came tearing around a corner in the distance. "Four Ghost on our six, about four hundred meters out and closing in fast!"

"Take them out!" Xanthus ordered and Moss quickly switched over to the main cannon. Dropping his crosshairs over the lead Ghost, Moss pulled the trigger.

 _BOOM BOOM BOOM!_

The 40mm shells streaked down the road towards the Ghost, but the Elite driver clearly saw them coming. He jerked his Ghost to the left and somehow managed to dodge through the dead space between rounds. Panning the turret to the left, Moss fired another burst, but the Ghost promptly returned to his original position and the shells once again passed harmlessly by the vehicle. Realizing he wasn't going to be able to kill them that easily, Moss tried to switch things up. He fired one shell to the left of the Ghost, then hastily fired a shell to the right of the Ghost, trying to hem the Ghost in, before firing a third shell directly at the Ghost itself. The Ghost swerved to the right to avoid the first shell, but rather than return to the center to avoid the second shell, the Ghost continued to drift to the right, mounting the sidewalk as the third shell missed him by a several meters.

Seeing a long line of parked cars coming up, Moss waited until the Ghost had hemmed himself in, trapping himself between the parked cars on his left and the row of buildings on his right. With no room for the Ghost to maneuver, Moss waited until he had the appropriate lead before firing directly at the Ghost. Moss was about to scratch that Ghost off when, to his astonishment, the Ghost slammed to a stop, and the shells passed in front of him, destroying the front of the building next to him.

Moss was about to try and reengage that Ghost, but then he realized the other three Ghost were beginning to get some good hits onto the Armadillo, and he quickly broke off from the first Ghost to lock onto another Ghost. Traversing left with his turret, Moss waited until his crosshairs turned red before firing a quick burst. The rounds shot downrange but just as they were about to connect, the second Ghost hit a snowbank which launched him straight up, giving the Ghost enough air to fly over the incoming rounds. Swearing to himself, Moss quickly elevated the barrel to fire another burst at the airborne Ghost, but before even as he pulled the trigger, the Ghost came crashing back down onto the road and the 40mm shells passed harmlessly overhead.

As the second Ghost landed, he bounced off the ground and for a moment, Moss thought the Elite was about to lose control of the Ghost and crash, but the Elite quickly managed to bring the vehicle under control. Moss rapidly fired another burst the second Ghost, hoping to take advantage of the Elite's distraction, but the Elite swerved to the left and managed to dodge. Moss panned the turret in his direction but before he could fire, the second Ghost began zigzagging across the road, preventing him from getting a lock.

Out of sheer frustration, Moss held down on the trigger and began chasing after the Ghost, sending about a dozen rounds downrange. The second Ghost managed to dodge every single incoming round, but as he drifted across the road, he inadvertently crossed in front of the path of the third Ghost. With his line of sight temporarily blocked, the third Ghost wasn't able to notice the incoming fire until one of the shells hit the Ghost head on. The armor-piercing sabot round punched right the center of the Ghost, cutting the lightly armored vehicle in half and sent the remained plowing into the road. As the vehicle came to an abrupt stop, the Elite driver was thrown from his seat, flipping over the hood of the Ghost and flying a good three meters through the air before hitting the ground with enough momentum he still traveled along the road for another meter or so before coming to a stop. Moss did not see him get back up. Finally.

"Fuck this 40mil," Moss muttered to himself as he realized he was going to need something a faster rate of fire if he wanted to deal with the remaining Ghost. He switched over to his coax and hurriedly targeted one of the Ghost. Moss was just about to pull the trigger when one of the Ghost landed a direct hit on the turret.

 _KABAM!_

"Ah shit!" Moss yelled as something exploded inside the vehicle behind him and began spraying him with warm liquid. He turned around to see some sort of pipe had burst and was squirting out some sort of amber colored fluid all over the place.

"Fuck!" he yelped as it began spraying all over his face. He reached out and wrapped his hand around the hole, temporarily stopping the leak, but then realized he wouldn't be able to fire the turret at the same time. He looking around, searching for something to plug the hole with, but he couldn't find anything off hand.

"Hey, shut that thing off!" Xanthus yelled from the front. "It's getting all over my monitor!"

"Yeah, I'm working on it!" Moss yelled back as he looked over the control panel, trying to find something that would help. "Son of a bitch, what the fuck is this?"

Without warning, the liquid abruptly stopped spray and Moss glanced over his shoulder, wondering if the fluid had run out, only to see the Spartan had gotten up and wrapped a hand around the pipe. As she removed her hand, Moss was startled to see she had actually crushed the metal pipe with her bare hands, sealing the hole.

"Take out those Ghost Sergeant before they do anymore damage," she ordered him.

"Copy that ma'am!"

Moss swiftly turned his attention back to his monitor. He grabbed his control yoke and tried to pan the turret to the right to re-acquire the lead Ghost, but for some reason his controls were non-responsive.

"Hey, why aren't you firing?" Xanthus demanded to know as the sound of several direct hits echoed through the Armadillo.

"My turret won't turn for some reason!" Moss exclaimed as he jiggled the controls. "Shit," he said as realization struck him, and he glanced at the damaged pipe behind him. "You know, I think that was the hydraulic line for the automatic traverse!"

The Spartan snapped her fingers. "Switch over to manual traverse," she ordered, pointing at a pair of hand cranks just below Moss' control yoke. "Left wheel controls the traverse, right wheel controls the barrel elevation."

"Shit. Got it!" Moss said as he grabbed a hold of the left crank. Spinning it around, Moss began hosing down the street with machine gun fire.

 _RATATATATATATATAT!_

Moss could see sparks flying as bullets struck the hoods of a couple of the Ghost, but unlike the 40mm, a single 7.62mm rifle round wasn't capable of destroying a Ghost by itself. Elevating the barrel just a bit, Moss tried firing at the drivers instead, and he could see their personal shields light up as stray rounds struck them, but all the Elites did was duck lower behind the front of their vehicles and began weaving across the road. Stuck on manual like he was, Moss found it nearly impossible to maintain a lock on even a single Ghost. Still, Moss continued to fire, hoping to get lucky. But after he fired over a hundred rounds and failed to cause anything more than cosmetic damage to the Ghost, he realized it wasn't going to work.

"These fuckers are moving too fast for me to shoot!" Moss warned.

"Try hitting them with the Argents!" the Spartan suggested. "Control panel, just above your right stick!"

Moss instantly spotted the panel in question. Hitting the switch that was labeled "Arm," Moss watched on his monitor as the onboard computer indicated the missile launcher was now deployed.

Cranking the traverse, Moss attempted to keep his crosshairs over one of the Ghost long enough to form a lock.

 _Beep beep beep!_

"Come on, come on," Moss muttered to himself frantically working the crank, trying to maintain his crosshairs as the Ghost weaved over the road. "You can do it."

 _BEEEEEE!_

"Yes!" Moss cried out, quickly pulling the trigger as he manage to get a lucky lock on one of the Ghost.

There was a muffed _whoosh_ as the Argent V missile departed from its launch tube on the side of the turret. The missile was thrown a couple of meters away from the turret before the missile's onboard motor took over and propelled the missile down the street towards the Ghost. Moss started to track one of the other Ghost with his second missile, but then he noticed seconds before the first missile was about to hit, the Ghost the missile was tracked darted behind a nearby garbage truck. The Argent slammed into the cab of the truck, blowing up the entire vehicle, and as the explosion died down, Moss spotted the Ghost zooming out from behind the wreckage, looking banged up, but still operational.

"It fucking missed!" Moss cried, half shocked and half outraged by this turn of events. "The fucking missile missed!"

"Try again but switch the firing method to top attack mode," the Spartan ordered. "No, the other dial!"

Moss hastily twisted a couple of dials and set about trying to lock on another target. It wasn't easy. Now that the Elites had seen what sort of ordnance they were up against, they were driving even more erratically to prevent getting locked on. The only good thing Moss could say about their driving was the fact it also made it really hard for them to aim, so they weren't hitting the Armadillo as much as they had been, but they were filling the air with so much plasma fire, it was bound to happen eventually.

 _Beep beep beep_... _beep!_

Moss swore and punched the control out of frustration as he started to obtain a lock, but then lost it just as quickly. "Shit! These guys are moving too fast for me to get a lock!"

Unexpectedly, a face appeared in the middle of his screen.

"What the..."

Moss suddenly realized it was the Spartan he was looking at and startled, he turned around to see the Spartan, with the top half of her body sticking out of a hatch just above her seat, pulling herself outside.

"What the fuck is she doing?"

"I have no fucking idea!" Poblede yelled back.

Moss turned his attention back to his screen, and watched as the Spartan positioned herself on the edge of the hatch. Then, grabbing a hold of the side with one hand, and then grabbed the barrel of the turret with the other, she began rotating the turret around.

"Oh shit..." Moss whispered as the Spartan began tracking one of the Ghost with the turret. The Elites, clearly seeing what she was doing, promptly opened fire, but because they were still trying dodge, none of the bolts came close.

 _Beep beep beepbeepbeeeeeee!_

As soon as Moss heard the lock on tone, he didn't think, he just jammed down on the trigger. He watched as the missile launch as the Spartan released her hold on the turret and drop back inside.

Like before, once the missile was a couple of meters away from the turret body, the missile's onboard motor took over, but this time instead of propelling the missile right at the Ghost, the missile was launched straight up into the air. Moss could see one of the Elites craning his neck, trying to see where the missile went seconds before the missile came crashing down right on his head and detonating. The Ghost, the driver, and the missile all disappeared in a violent explosion. At that, the remaining two Ghost rapidly broke off pursuit, taking a right at the next intersection and disappearing from view.

Moss let out a sigh of relief. "Clear," he called out. "At least for now."

"Don't celebrate just yet," Poblede warned. "We still have maybe another ten klicks to go. Hey Sergeant? At this next intersection, you're going to want to take a right."

"Copy that," Xanthus grunted as he turned the wheel. "Sergeant Shen, watch for enemy fighters."

"Wilco."

Moss began traversing the turret to the left but as he did, he noticed two heat signatures rapidly moving through the buildings on their right on an intercept course.

"Incoming!" Moss yelled out just as two Ghost vehicles, probably the same two that had been chasing them moments ago, leap out from a nearby back alley and come crashing onto the road just in front of them. Spinning around so they were driving backwards, the two Ghost began unloading into the Armadillo.

"Shit!" Xanthus yelped as plasma fire licked the hood of the IFV. "Can they burn through our armor with those cannons?"

"Eventually, yes," the Spartan warned.

"Sergeant, take them out!"

Moss rapid spun the traverse trying to turn the turret as fast as he could. As he did, he switched to the main cannon and laid into the trigger, trying to hit them with gunfire as soon as he got close enough. However, before the turret could even make it halfway, the two Ghost abruptly stopped, allowing the Armadillo to roll pass them and instantly disappeared from Moss' view

"They just dropped behind us!" Moss warned, turning the turret around so he could target them. To his surprise, they weren't there and Moss began checking his periscopes, trying to find them. As he was glancing through his right periscope, a scaly claw abruptly appeared over the side of the Armadillo and Moss suddenly realized where they were.

"They're on our flanks!" Moss yelled. "We got an Elite on the right side! I think he's trying to climb on board! My guns can't depress low enough to hit him!"

"Hold on!" Xanthus yelled before suddenly spinning the steering wheel to the right.

They could hear the sound of metal grinding against metal then the right side of the IFV lifted up, as if they had just driven over a large bump. Moss could hear what sounded like the terrified scream of an Elite just before the scaly claw disappeared from view. Glancing at his screen, Moss looked behind them to see what looked like a pancaked Ghost and a rapidly cooling puddle of goo sitting off to the side of the road.

"I think you got him!" Moss reported.

"Yeah! I'm not to be fucked with!" Xanthus triumphantly cheered.

"Well, that's one way to save ammo: just run them over with a sixty tonne vehicle," Poblede commented. "But where did the second one go?"

 _Thud._

Moss glanced through his middle periscope in time to see the second Elite rider landing on top of the Armadillo. Before Moss could react, the Elite began driving his fist into a specific spot on the roof, and glancing inside, Moss could see the corresponding dents forming the hatch right above Xanthus' head.

"He's trying to break inside!" Xanthus yelled in alarm and he crouched down in his seat, trying to avoid the blows.

Outside, Moss could see the Elite pulling out a grenade.

"Shit, he's got a grenade!" Moss warned. Ripping his harness off, Moss grabbed his plasma rifle and popped open the hatch above his head. The Elite automatically looked up at the noise and Moss speedily brought his weapon to bear. Resting the bottom of the rifle on the edge of the hatch, Moss began unloading into the Elite at point blank range.

"Get your own damn ride!" Moss screamed at him over the sound of plasma fire.

The Elite's shield lit up as dozens of plasma bolts hammered home, he not being able to dodge the incoming fire at this range. But then again, neither could Moss.

Moss fell back into his seat as something hit his face and fell into his lap. He looked down and to his horror, there was a plasma grenade sitting between he things.

"Grenade. Grenade!" Moss screamed.

"Moss, calm down, it's not a live grenade!" Poblede hollered at him before he could do something crazy.

Glancing down again, Moss realized she was right. Instead of a fiery blue fire indicative of an active plasma grenade sitting in his lap, all that was present was a simply dark blue ball with an orange pad surrounding the neon green activation glyph. He also realized if the grenade had been active, it would have adhered to his face when it hit.

Picking it up, Moss wondered if the Elite had somehow forgotten to activate it before he threw it, when a shadow loomed overhead and he looked up to see the Elite standing over his open hatch, pointing his plasma rifle straight at Moss' face. Moss felt his heart stop, but at this point, all he could do was close his eyes and wait for death.

"Xanthus, STOP!" Poblede screamed and Xanthus slammed down on the brakes.

Surprisingly for such a heavy vehicle, the Armadillo instantly came to a halt. Moss was thrown forward and suddenly his mouth was full of blood as he smashed his face against his control console. Spitting out blood and gripping his mouth in pain, Moss opened his eyes to see the Elite had been thrown off the Armadillo, and had landed in a heap about half a meter in front of the IFV.

"Run that son of a bitch over!" Poblede urged and Xanthus floored it. The Elite had just enough time to raise his hand in alarm before the Armadillo's glacis plate smashed into his face and he disappeared under the vehicle. There was no time to celebrate their victory though as through the open hatch, Moss could hear the bone-chilling scream of incoming Banshees. Poking his head out, Moss looked around, trying to figure out which direction the Banshees were coming from, but the shrieking sounded like it was coming from all directions.

"Hey, we got Banshees inbound!" Moss yelled into the crew cabin. "Anyone got eyes on?"

 _FWOOSH FWOOSH!_

Moss dove back into the Armadillo as two Banshee fighters streaked by overhead, their purple hulls barely visible against the dark sky. They were flying extremely low, maybe less than thirty meters off the ground; low enough, Moss could feel the pressure from their boosted gravity propulsion drives as they whipped by.

"Contact! Two Banshees overhead!" Moss warned as he began to spin the turret around and elevate the barrel. Through his center periscope, Moss could see the Banshees travel the length of the road in front of them before they began to gain altitude. Once they were about two, three hundred meters off the ground, they began to loop around. "They're setting up for an attack run! Incoming, incoming!"

The Banshees began diving towards the Armadillo, and Moss could see the sky lighting up from the glare of their muzzle flashes as their open fired. White-blue plasma bolts chewed up the pavement as the Banshee pilots walked their cannon fire towards them, and then the entire IFV began to shake as it took several direct hits before the Banshees shot by.

"Sergeant, damage report!"

Moss swore before abandoning the gun and poked his head out of his hatch to take a look around. Splotches of melting metal decorated the top of the Armadillo, but the armor appeared to be holding. For now.

"We took some hits but we're okay for now!" Moss reported before looking around for the Banshees. He spotted them, nearly a klick behind them, but he could see they were turning around and Moss knew, just knew, they were setting up for a fuel rod cannon strike.

"They're coming around! Xanthus, when I tell you, break right!"

The roar of anti-gravity engines was quickly filling the sky, and on the underside of one of the Banshees, Moss could see a green light that was growing in intensity. Then the Banshee fired.

"BREAK RIGHT BREAK RIGHT!" Moss screamed at the top of his lungs as a green dot departed from the Banshee and swiftly began to grow in size

Inside, Moss could hear Xanthus frantically turning the wheel and he could feel the vehicle turning, but an Armadillo was not a Ghost; it didn't possess nearly the same amount of speed or maneuverability as the smaller vehicle did. Moss cringed as he realized the projectile was going to hit.

Then, at the very last second, the Armadillo finished making its turn. Moss could see the projectile actually arching towards the Armadillo in compensation, but at that point the missile was too close and moving too fast for it to properly reacquire the target. The fuel rod cannon slammed into the ground just to the right of the IFV, missing it by a few centimeters, and detonated, tearing a massive crater in the road. Moss ducked back inside as the entire vehicle was awashed in radioactive green fire and every single electronic device inside started to go on the fritz. Then it was all over, the Armadillo passing through the concussion wave no worse for wear.

The two Banshees whipped by overhead and Moss seized his control yoke and fired a few burst after them, hoping to get lucky and hit at least one of them, but watching his tracers, Moss could tell he didn't even come close.

"Holy shit, we're still alive?" he heard Poblede exclaim.

"Yes, but we got lucky. Those Banshees aren't going to miss another shot like that again," Xanthus warned.

"I thought they were trying to take the Spartan alive?"

"Guess they decided it was more trouble than it was worth," Xanthus suggested. "Whatever the case is, Sergeant Shen, buddy, you got to take out those fighters or at least discourage them from attacking any further."

"I'm trying!" Moss snarled as he adjust the elevation of his cannon. "But I can only do so much when I'm stuck on manual traverse!"

He tore over his control panel, looking for something that could help, when he noticed an airburst setting for the main cannon. Immediately flicking the switch, Moss began lining up his shot as he noticed the Banshees were swinging around.

"Fuck off and die you motherfuckers!" Moss snarled as he opened up.

Little black clouds began forming around the Banshees, and Moss could see them bouncing up and down as they were hit by small pieces of shrapnel, but clearly the pilots were braver than Moss would have been if he had been in their position as neither of them aborted their attack run. Instead, they immediately dove straight for the ground, pulling up when they were only about ten meters away, and began flying straight at the Armadillo, plasma cannons blazing away.

Realizing there wasn't going to be enough time to adjust the elevation, Moss abandoned the 40mil and popped open his hatch. Grabbing hold of the M247 machine gun mounted there, he racked the bolt before jamming his thumbs down on the butterfly triggers and began unloading on the Banshees.

"Yahhhhhhhh! You want some? Come get some!" Moss screamed as plasma rained down around him, barely aware of what he was even saying. He could sparks flying as his rounds struck home, but none of them caused any significant damage as the Banshees shot by. Moss turned his gun to follow them, but then he realized because of the position of his machine gun and the main turret, he couldn't do a full three hundred and sixty turn.

Craning his head around the turret, Moss watched as the Banshees rapidly ascend before speeding off into the distance. He knew they weren't leaving though: they were only gaining altitude so they could set up for another fuel rod cannon run. And this time, they wouldn't miss.

Moss looked around. Things were getting out of hand. Armor plating was dipping off the vehicle in streams of molten metal, a fire had broken out somewhere on top of the turret, and all sorts of alarms were going off inside. It was clear to Moss the Armadillo wouldn't be able to take that much more damage.

"Nothing's fucking working!" Moss angrily spat out, pounding his hand against the top of the Armadillo in anger. "The fuck do we do now?"

"Sergeant, halt the vehicle and drop the ramp!" the Spartan abruptly ordered.

"What -"

"Just do it!" she snapped, showing more emotion than Moss had seen from her yet.

"Corporal, give me your plasma pistol," the Spartan barked as Xanthus brought the IFV to a stop and dropped open the back ramp. "Sergeant, I need that plasma grenade and the crew compartment hatches to be open."

Moss hastily swung out of seat and ran to the back, tossing the grenade over to the Spartan as he passed her. Unlatching the hatches, he shoved them open as the sound of the Banshees returning filled the air. He looked up to see both of them angling their nose towards the Armadillo and he knew they didn't have much more time. Then one of the Banshees fired a fuel rod cannon.

"Get down," the Spartan ordered before leveling the plasma pistol and firing an overcharged shot.

To Moss' astonishment, the overcharged pistol shot hit the fuel rod cannon head on, shattering the transparent shell keeping the explosive material together and causing it to violently detonate in mid-air. As the shockwave from the blast dispersed but before Moss' jaw could fully drop at the impossibility of that shot, the Spartan activated the plasma grenade and hurtled it straight up into the air. As the Banshees swooped by, the lead Banshee flew right into the active grenade just as it detonate. The ensuing explosion ripped through the fighter, which instantaneously disintegrated into a giant blue fireball.

Flying close behind, the second Banshee was unable to pull away in time and flew right through the debris field. The Banshee was hammered with shrapnel and as it flew down the street, Moss could see flames licking the canopy and it was beginning to trail smoke. The Banshee started to climb, trying to gain some altitude, when there was a loud _**KABOOM**_ as one of its engines exploded. The Banshee swiftly spun out of control and disappeared behind the rooftops of the nearby buildings. A couple of seconds later, there was a massive blue explosion a couple streets away, one that caused the very ground to shake.

Moss turned and stared at the Spartan with his mouth open in astonishment. For her part, the Spartan didn't seem to notice.

"Sergeant, we should vacate the area; more Covenant patrols are on the way," she ordered, as if shooting down missiles with small arms fire and swatting Banshees out of the sky with hand grenades was an everyday occurrence. Which for Spartans, Moss was beginning to realize, it probably was.

"Um, right," Xanthus intelligently replied and Moss could see him visibly trying to restart his brain. "Closing the ramp. Uh, where to now Corporal?"

Moss glanced over at Poblede and noticed she was still gawking at the Spartan so he subtly elbowed her.

"What? Oh right. Um… in two blocks, we're going to reach Romulus Augustus Circle, at which point we'll take the second right onto L Street. Go down four blocks, and we'll reach the area where we ditched the Pelican."

"Right then. Let's move out. Shut all hatches and everyone return to your stations," Xanthus commanded. "Hopefully we can be out of this city before any more Covenant patrols catch up to us."

"You said it Sergeant," Moss commented as he clambered back into his seat and strapped himself back in. Grabbing the traverse, he continued to wheel the turret around, watching for enemy contacts as they traveled down the two blocks to the next roundabout.

"Okay, take a right, and it should be the second exit," Poblede informed them. "After that, it's a straight shot for four blocks."

"Come on baby, we're almost home free," Moss heard Xanthus mutter as they entered the circle and started making the turn. "Just a little bit further."

 _ **KABOOM!**_

Moss was tossed around in his seat as something massive exploded underneath the Armadillo! The entire right side of the IFV was lifted a few centimeters off the ground before crashing back down to the ground and bring the vehicle to a halt. Ears ringing, Moss forced himself to sit back up and urgently checked his optics and periscopes for enemy fire.

"What the fuck was that?" Poblede exclaimed. "Fuel rod cannon?"

"I don't see anybody," Moss reported as he rotated the turret. "Believe it or not, I think that was a landmine."

"A landmine!? What the hell is a mine doing right here?"

"I don't know," Xanthus interjected. "But we got to check it out. I don't want to move in case we're sitting in a minefield."

"Goddammit," Moss muttered as he undid his harness. "Xanthus, you still got that energy sword?"

"Yeah. Here, take it."

Popping open his hatch, Moss pulled himself out of the vehicle. Laying down on his belly on the forward right sponson, he ignited the sword to search for more mines. It wasn't exactly easy. The energy sword may have made one hell of a close quarters combat weapon, but as a flashlight, it kind of sucked. Still, it was better than searching with his hands, which is what he would have done if he didn't have any light. As it were, he was able to determine there were no other mines in the general area, a fact he quickly informed the others about, before hoping off the IFV to inspect the damage done by the mine.

" _Shit_ ," Moss swore out loud as he surveyed the damage. "That's not good."

"How bad is it?" Xanthus queried as both he and Poblede appeared out the rear of the IFV. There was a _bang_ as one of the top hatches to the passenger compartment swung open and the Spartan pulled herself out and sat down on the roof of the Armadillo, her useless legs hanging over the side.

"Well, the track is officially fucked," Moss said as he dug through the crater the mine had left behind with the tip of his boot looking for fragments. "The mine took out a good meter and a half worth of the caterpillar track. Not only that, about half our bogie wheels have been blown to kingdom come and as for the drive sprocket? Well, I'll let you know as soon as I can find the stupid thing."

"What? How could a single mine do that much damage?" Xanthus asked.

Moss shrugged. "Hazard a guess? I'd say the side skirt worked against us in this case by directing most of the blast upwards, instead of out to the open." He grabbed the heavy metal plate and tried to yank it off its mounting brackets but Moss wasn't nearly as strong as a Spartan; despite the damage, the armor skirt refused to budge. He sighed.

"Fucking Christ," Xanthus muttered as he walked over to see the damage himself. "This Armadillo is fucked: it's not going anywhere anytime soon. Why the fuck would the Covies put a plasma mine here, of all places?"

"It wasn't a plasma mine."

Moss glanced up at the Spartan. "Come again?"

"It wasn't a plasma mine," the Spartan repeated. "That's a fragment from a TR/9 trip mine."

Exchanging a confused look with Xanthus, Moss turned to look at the spot the Spartan was pointing at, but he couldn't see anything. He glanced up at the Spartan. "So… you guys have really good eyesight, huh?"

For a moment, Moss could have sworn the Spartan looked startled, but instead, she merely shrugged.

Moss was prevented from inquiring further when Poblede abruptly let out a weird chocking noise. Moss glanced in her direction to see her staring across the traffic circle with a disbelieving look on her face.

"What s up with you?"

Poblede shook her head. "You're not going to fucking believe this. You remember those mines we brought down from the _Young_ when we first arrived here on the surface?"

"No, not at all," Moss admitted. "But let's say I do. What about them?"

"Well, we just fucking hit them," she said, pointing at the crater the Armadillo was currently sitting in. Moss stared at her.

"No," Moss said in disbelief. "What makes you think that?"

She pointed across the circle. "That's that building we were holed up in when we first abandoned the Pelican."

Moss glanced at the building in question. The building itself was gone, leaving behind only a giant pile of rubble, but now that Poblede mentioned it, it did look somewhat vague familiar. Of course, it was dark and with the building having been destroyed, Moss easily could have been projecting, but then Poblede turned around and gestured towards the street they had been heading towards.

"And look, you can still see the wreckage from that AA Wraith the 53rd Armored guys took out with that danger close airstrike. Granted, it's been moved to the side, probably by the Covies cause it was blocking everything, but you can tell it's the same one cause it's got that giant hole in the middle of it."

Moss looked and was forced to admit Poblede was right.

"But wait," Moss protested as a thought occurred to him. "How could we have hit our own mine? We're driving a UNSC vehicle; the IFF reader on that trip mine should have registered the Armadillo and deactivated itself as we rolled by."

Poblede shrugged. "You told me to put them on proxy-det. That deactivates the IFF reader."

"And it's been sitting here the entire day, just waiting for us to drive by, huh?" Xanthus noted with a disbelieving shake of head. "Well, it is official: big man upstairs hates us."

"Well, now we're screwed, aren't we?" Poblede asked. "I mean, clearly this vehicle is not going anywhere and from what I see, everything other vehicle in this area has been shot up or blown up. What do we do now?"

Xanthus sighed. "We're just going to have to hoof it the four blocks down to the Pelican."

"While carrying the Spartan? With the Covies breathing down our necks? Not possible. Not in the amount of time we have," Poblede protested.

"We're just going to have to try," Xanthus said, sounding exhausted, and Moss couldn't blame him. To get so far, only to fall just shy of the finish line...

As he glanced over the traffic circle and studied their situation, an idea suddenly formed in his mind.

"I... might have an idea on how we can get more time," Moss said slowly. "But you guys aren't going to like it."

"Well, it's probably the only idea we got, so let's hear it," Xanthus replied.

"The Covies probably don't know what our destination is, right? They're chasing us because they know we've got the Spartan, but they don't know where we're going. Which means, they're following our path. Which means, they got to pass right through this intersection. Now, given where the Armadillo has ended up, and the fact that it's weapon systems are still operational..." Moss trailed off.

"One of us could hold off the Covenant long enough for the rest to make their escape," Xanthus finished.

"No. Fuck that. That's a suicide mission," Poblede instantly said.

"It's the only option we got Pip."

"Why don't we just hide until the Covie patrols get diverted elsewhere? There is a war going on: there is no way the Covenant can afford to keep an entire garrison of special ops soldiers occupied with the task of searching for three paratroopers and a Spartan. We got all the time in the world; they don't."

"It's not going to work that way Pip. I think at this point it's clear the Covenant are pulling out all the stops, searching for her." Moss jerked his head in the Spartan's direction. "I mean, they took you guys' prisoner, for crying out loud."

"Plus, that Zealot seemed pretty pissed Sergeant Shen here managed to assassinate one of their leaders, especially one under his protection. Elites do not take that shit lying down," Xanthus pointed out.

Moss blanched. To be honest, he had kind of already forgotten he did that.

"Plus," Xanthus continued, "even if they don't find us, they're bound to find that Pelican, if they haven't already. And if they do, they're going to figure out our plan and destroy it, at which point, we'll be stuck here forever. No, this is the only option we have." Xanthus took a deep breath. "And it's got to be me who stays here."

"What? No," Moss protested, ignoring the really nasty look Poblede shot him. "It's my dumb idea: I'm the one who should execute it."

"You're needed to fly the Pelican," Xanthus noted. "The Spartan is the package, so she can't do it, and I know you need two hands to be able to fire and traverse the turret at the same time, so that means Corporal Poblede is out. I'm the only one who's expendable; it's got to be me."

"I'm sure the Spartan is capable of flying the Pelican," Moss suggested but paused when he noticed the Spartan shaking her head.

"I am a certified Pelican pilot," she told them, "but without any working legs, I'm not able to utilize the pedals that manipulate the wing flaps. I'll be unable to steer the plane."

"See?" Xanthus noted. "You're more essential for the success of this mission than I am at this point."

Moss was beaten down, but he wasn't quite ready to give up. Grabbing Xanthus by the arm, he turned him so he could look him straight in the eye.

"Sergeant, you understand what you're volunteering for, right? This is a suicide mission; you are **NOT** going to be able to walk away from this."

In the darkness, Moss could see Xanthus' Adam's apple bob up and down as he nervously swallowed, and sweat was pouring off his forehead in droves. There was no mistaking the fear in Xanthus' eyes. It was clear as day to Moss Xanthus was scared. Yet, behind all that fear, Moss could sense Xanthus' determination and when he spoke, Moss could hear the conviction in his voice.

"It's like you said Sergeant: winning is no longer an option, our job is to buy time. And right now? I can do just that." Xanthus reached up and Moss could see his hands trembling ever so slightly as he pulled out his dogtags. Ripping one off, he shoved it into Moss' hands.

"You let my parents know that I love them, okay?" Xanthus ordered, his voice cracking ever so slightly. "And that I died fighting. And…and tell my brother that I'm sorry we never got to fight the bad guys together like we dreamed of when we were kids. Can you do that for me?"

Moss nodded. Impulsively, Moss grabbed Xanthus and pulled him into a one armed hug.

"You make those fuckers holler," Moss urged into Xanthus' ear.

"Don't worry, I'm going to make those bastards regret ever coming here," Xanthus assured him and Moss nodded, before reluctantly pulling away. He was immediately replaced by Poblede.

"Good luck. And _thank you_ ," she emphatically told him. Xanthus shot her a weak grin as she pulled away.

Taking a deep breath, Xanthus let it out slowly. "It's been real guys," he said.

"Yeah," Moss whispered. He watched as Xanthus take another deep breath and let it out slowly again.

"You guys should go," Xanthus urged. "Before it's too late."

"We know," Poblede said softly. "It's just… this isn't the way it should have ended."

"No, it shouldn't have," Xanthus agreed as the Spartan climbed onto Moss' back. "But it is what it is. And… as much as I don't want to die… I suppose there are worst ways to go."

"What you're doing here Sergeant, won't be forgotten. I'll make sure of that," the Spartan assured him. Xanthus bobbed his head.

"Thank you ma'am." He took one last final breath and exhaled. "Well. This is it. I guess I'll catch you all on the flip side."

With that, Xanthus spun around on one heel and walked back towards the Armadillo. Moss could see him trembling, but he didn't once turn away or look back. Walking up the ramp, Xanthus disappeared into the vehicle. The ramp closed behind him, and Moss could hear Xanthus closing all the hatches and locking them shut, sealing himself into the IFV.

"Let's go guys," Moss finally ordered.

Hefting the Spartan, Moss turned and took off down the street, with Poblede following close behind. As Moss ran, his mind was occupied with one thought:

One down.

Two to go.

* * *

Author's Note: Well guys, in case you couldn't tell, we're pushing towards the end. I've got maybe two more large chapters (or three small chapters; not sure yet, need to see how it turns out when I write them) planed, and then an epilogue. OHMYGOD, WE'RE ALMOST FINISHED! AHHH!

So, a bit more Spartan action. I know what I said in my notes for the last chapter, and originally I hadn't intended to depict Maria doing all that much more, but halfway through writing this, I decided I needed Moss and company to understand just how special Spartans are. Now, in comparison to other supersoldiers in other media, and even other Spartans in the Halo universe, I'm sure Maria's actions are pretty underwhelming. But if you view them through the eyes of a squishy, vanilla NPC, I feel you will agree what she did was quite impressive. Maybe it's just me, but I certainly can't crush steel pipes with my bare hands, or more couple ton armored turrets around by myself, even if they were on rollers.


	15. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

They cleared the four blocks in record time. As they approached their destination, Moss sighed in relief as he spotted the massive concrete building looming out of the darkness in front of them. He hadn't said anything, but it had occurred to Moss about halfway through the Armadillo ride that this many hours into the invasion, there was a strong possibility that the parking garage had actually been destroyed, and that they would make it all the way here only to find a giant pile of rubble. The fact the garage was still here gave Moss just a bit of hope that at least some of them would be making it out this city alive. The condition of the parking garage was also cause for optimism: aside from a few new pockmarks and plasma burns, the garage looked almost identical to how they had left it hours ago. Even the rope they had used to rappel down from the fifth floor was still there, covered in ice and frozen in place.

Climbing over abandoned cars and dodging passed frozen bodies, Moss and the others ran up the ramps until they reached the floor where they had left the Pelican on. It was still there, right where they had abandoned it, not having moved a centimeter in the hours since they had left it. At that sight, all Moss could do was glance skyward and thank whomever was listening that Lancelot hadn't allowed them to destroy their ride like they had originally intended.

"Bring me into the cockpit so I can begin the pre-flight sequence," the Spartan ordered from Moss' shoulders.

Moss nodded, and then jogged towards the back of the Pelican. Running up the ramp and almost slipping on the ice that had formed there, Moss staggered into the cargo bay. It was dark, which Moss supposed was to be expected, but he could only hope the darkness was because all the lights had been turned off and not because the Pelican was devoid of power.

At her prompting, Moss deposited the Spartan on the ground in the doorway leading into the cockpit. He took a step back and watched as she dragged herself to the pilot's seat and haul herself up into the chair. As she did, it suddenly occurred to Moss the Spartan should have been exhausted by now, constantly dragging herself across the floor using only her arms for propulsion like that, coupled with her injuries and all the fighting, yet she showed no signs of strain, no signs of fatigue, not even a hint of slowing down. He briefly wondered if this was another sign of her extensive training, or whether it was another example of her obviously superior biology, or whether it was a combination of the two, but as the Spartan settled in, Moss decided he was probably better of not knowing and instead, distracted himself by throwing himself into the copilot's seat.

Spotting a lamp over his head, Moss flicked it on so he could see what he was looking at, before studying the control panel that sat in front of him. Most of the buttons and controls looked familiar to him, as he recognized them from his game. However, glancing at the Spartan, Moss could tell she was a formally trained pilot, so he decided it was probably in everyone's best interest not to touch anything until she told him to, least he accidently screw something up.

The Spartan hit a button, and instantly the entire cockpit was lit up as the HUD winked into existence over the cockpit window. Moss couldn't help but tap his foot somewhat impatiently as he watched the Spartan tap a few buttons on the holographic screen and began running a damage analysis of the Pelican. Hearing movement behind him, Moss glanced over his shoulder to see Poblede leaning heavily against the cockpit doorframe. He shot her a concerned look and made to climb out of his seat, but she quickly shook her head and Moss relaxed.

"Well, I have good news and bad news," the Spartan finally reported. "The Pelican is intact and in working condition. However, because the engines have been sitting idle for so long, it's going to take some time before they warm up."

"How much time?" Moss asked.

"Roughly ten minutes."

"Damn," Moss muttered.

"What's the good news?" Poblede tiredly asked. The Spartan glanced at her.

"That was the good news."

"Ah. Then... what's the bad news?" Poblede wearily asked.

"We're not able to leave this garage." The Spartan hit a few more buttons and a wire frame of the Pelican sitting in the garage appeared in the screen. "The height of this level of the garage is approximately two and a half centimeters smaller than the overall height of this Pelican. The speed at which the Pelican crashed allowed it to make this far into the garage, but the Pelican is effectively wedged into place."

It took Moss a few seconds to absorb the full meaning of what the Spartan was saying, but once he did, he felt his heart sink. "Wait, can't we just hit the afterburners and power our way out?"

The Spartan shook her head. "Based on my calculations, we won't be able to generate enough thrust to break free. Not with how tightly wedged this Pelican is."

"Are you telling me," Poblede slowly began, "that despite all the fighting we did, all the people we lost, everything we did to get here, was for _nothing_?" She wavered and her voice cracked for a moment. "That we're STUCK here?"

She looked on the verge of crying and Moss wanted to reach out and comfort her but truth be told, Moss was feeling the same way. They were so close. So fucking close...

The Spartan suddenly cocked her head. "There might be a solution," she announced. "If we could cause a partial collapse of this floor; that should be sufficient enough to free us."

"How the hell do we do that!?" Poblede demanded. "We've got nothing: no explosives, no thermite, nothing!"

Moss noticed the Spartan was staring out the window at the abandoned cars that surrounded them. "I'd be able to create an improvised explosive device out of the hydrogen fuel cells from those vehicles. It wouldn't have as much explosive yield as military standard explosives, however I believe it would suffice."

"Yeah, but that's going to take time; time we _don't_ have!"

Moss opened his mouth and was about to add his two cents when a whistling noise distracted him. At first he thought the noise was merely in his head, but as he reflexively looked around the cockpit, he realized the whistling was coming from the wind, blowing through two small holes in the windshield. He stared at the holes, trying to remember if they had been there before, but then he abruptly recalled the Skirmisher sniper that had taken a couple potshots at them mere moments after they had crashed.

That's right, it was all coming back to Moss. If he recalled correctly, the Skirmisher had shot twice; the first shot had hit the Pelican crew chief while the second had missed. Him and... Norén had been prepared to try and take out the sniper, but then it turned out to unnecessary because the pilot had ended up taking out the sniper with -

"Rocket pods."

"What was that Moss?" Poblede asked.

Moss blinked before he realized he had voiced his last thought out loud. "Rocket pods," he slowly repeated. "This Pelican was equipped with two pods of eight Anvil-II anti-tank missiles, one under each wing stub. Sixteen total, with each missile equipped with a 102mm shaped charge warhead." He glanced at the Spartan, a glimmer of hope starting to form within him. "If we take the warheads out of the rocket bodies, we could use them to destroy the support columns below us, right?"

The Spartan, inscrutable as ever, merely nodded. "However, we would need to detonate the explosives simultaneously. We would require some method of daisy chaining the warheads together."

"We still got all these bales of concertina wire we never got around to using," Poblede excited said as she jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "And I know those things can conduct high amounts of electricity: we used to use them for electrical fences back on Newsaka."

"Yes," the Spartan said thoughtfully. "And it would be relatively easy to rig a power source and a remote detonator from these abandoned cars."

"Holy shit!" Poblede exclaimed. "We got a plan guys!"

"Hang on Pip, don't get too excited," Moss cautioned, even though his racing heart belied his words. "Let's make sure we even still _have_ those rockets before we start celebrating." He glanced at the Spartan, who tapped a few keys.

"Yes. We have fifteen rockets still sitting in their pods."

Moss let out a sigh of relief. They had a solution. Now all they had to do implement it.

The Spartan hit a few more keys. "I've initiated the automated pre-flight checklist," she announced. "While it runs, we'll need to prepare our escape route. Corporal, look for a toolbox so you've be able to separate the warhead from the missile bodies. Sergeant, leave that can of biofoam here so we can repair the windshield, and then take me outside so I can begin assembling the power source and detonation device."

Moss frantically nodded. Leaping to his seat, he grabbed the Spartan and carried her outside, depositing her next to the nearest car. Then he ran back to the Pelican to help Poblede. She emerged from the cargo bay with a small toolbox in her good hand, as well as a long ramrod tucked under her arm.

"We can use this thing to shove the rockets out of their tubes far enough so we can grab them," she suggested.

Moss nodded in acknowledgement and quickly went to work. Using the pole, Poblede began shoving the missiles until they emerged out from the front of the pods, at which point Moss would remove them fully and then carefully stack them in a pile on the floor. It didn't take long before they had all fifteen missiles on the ground, ready for dismantling. Pulling out a prybar from the toolbox, Moss quickly went to work.

As he and Poblede began carefully removing the warheads from the rest of the rocket body, a thought occurred to Moss and he reached into his pocket.

"Pip."

She looked up in time to the catch the small bag Moss tossed her.

"What's this?" she asked, even as she pulled the bag open.

"It's all the dogtags I've collected over the course of the day."

Poblede finally pulled the bag open, revealing the small collection of stamped metal tags.

"Okay," she said slowly, looking them over. "Why are you give me all this?"

"Once you get back to friendly positions, you need turn those in so that those soldiers can be officially declared KIA," Moss explained. "Otherwise, the Army is just going to mark them as 'MIA, presumed dead.' It's not going to be much of a comfort, but at least their families won't be teetering on the edge of uncertainty."

"No, I know _that_. I'm asking: why are you giving **me** these? Don't get me wrong, I'll do it, but you're the ranking NCO, that's your responsibility. And it's not like you to shrink away from your job like that."

Moss couldn't help but look away.

"Oh come on man!" Poblede exploded. "I thought we went over this already! You still think you're not going to make it? Even after everything?"

"Pip, I am so fucked up right now, I don't even understand how I'm still moving. In fact, I'm not even convinced I'm even alive anymore. I'm a, walking, talking, real-life zombie, and you know how much I _hate_ zombies. And if what you guys are saying about my blackouts is true, then I'm suffering from some major brain damage, which means if I were to receive medical attention _right now_ , there's still a chance it won't be enough to save me. I'm all used up; the only thing left for me to do is make sure you make it. Whatever it takes."

"Shut the fuck up Moss."

Moss jerked back, startled by the harshness of Poblede's voice. He shot her a wary glance, only to notice how pissed she was.

"Moss, you are my best friend but **god dammit** do you piss me off sometimes. Who the fuck do you think you are? You think you're the only one suffering right now? I lost my **fucking hand**! I've been punched, kicked, shot at, blown up, and thrown through the wringer, just like you! And without my hand, I'm no good to anyone now!"

Moss opened his mouth to interrupt, but Poblede quickly talked over him.

"Yeah, I know my hand can be fixed, but you really think the Army would do that? I'm no one special; there a billion other people who could take my place. No, my career in the Army is over. As soon as we get back, the Army is going to toss me aside like a wet tissue. As I'm just like you: used up."

"And plus," Poblede continues before Moss could get a word in. "I would have thought you out of all people would have known by now I'm not the type of person that needs saving. I'm not a fucking damsel in distress Moss; I'm not the type of girl who's going to sit on her ass, waiting for someone to save her. I can do that myself, thank you very much. And if our PT and range scores are anything to go by, it will ultimately be _you_ , who needs to be saved by _me_!"

"You're right. And I'm sorry to imply otherwise," Moss quickly interjected as soon as Poblede paused to catch her breath. "I'm just... I don't think I can handle losing anybody else today."

Poblede seemed to deflate and she let out a loud sigh. "Yeah, I know. And, I was planning on doing the same thing: doing whatever I can to make sure you made it out okay. I'm just thinking, you know, if both of us are determined to make sure the other survives, why don't we work with each other to make sure _both_ us of us make it out alive. Together, like we always do?"

"That, I can agree to."

They worked in silence for a few more minutes before Moss smiled. "Kind of makes me wish I hadn't mentioned your husband before we got shipped here."

Poblede shot him an odd look. "And why is that?"

"Haven't you ever seen a war film? There's always that one guy who always talks about retiring or getting back to his 'girl back home.' Or, 'guy back home' in your case. Anyways, they are almost one hundred percent guaranteed to die, if not within the next five minutes, then definitely before the end of the movie. I'm afraid I've marked you for death," Moss dramatically announced.

Poblede stared at him incredulously, before she started laughing.

"Moss," she began between laughs. "I love you, but you're a fucking idiot."

Moss grinned. "Thanks."

Poblede abruptly stiffened. "You hear that?"

Moss strained his ears. "No?" he finally said but Poblede was no longer listening.

"Those are anti-gravity engines," she distractedly reported. "Shit! We've got incoming!"

Moss listened again, but his hearing must have been more fucked up than he realized because he couldn't hear what Poblede heard. Still, he trusted her.

"In that case," Moss started to say, but was abruptly cut off when he heard the _boom boom_ of a 40mm autocannon going off. Poblede and Moss exchanged grim looks.

"Xanthus has been engaged," Poblede stated.

"Countdown has begun," Moss said as he freed the last of the warheads. "We got to work fast; we don't have long."

Moss looked up as the Spartan came bounding around the corner, dragging a contraption made out of a couple car batteries and what looked like a car alarm behind her.

"I built a remote detonator out of a car's electronic key fob," she announced. "All we need to do is daisy chain the warheads together and put them in place. I can wire everything together up here; Sergeant Shen, go down to the floor below. I'll feed you the explosives, you put them in place." She tossed him a data pad. "Attach the explosives to the columns as marked on this data pad; put them at about mid-height as that will be where the concrete is weakest. Two warheads per, the corner column will require three. There's no way to attach the explosives, so bring a bale of concertina wire with you to tie them in place."

Moss nodded and immediately ran into the Pelican to gather his supplies. Outside, he could hear the Spartan ordering, "Corporal Poblede, Sergeant Xanthus won't be able to hold off the Covenant advance for too long. Arm yourself and prepare to defend the Pelican."

"Yes ma'am."

Grabbing two bales of wire and a pair of leather gloves, Moss started to run outside when he almost tripped over an MA37 assault rifle lying on the ground. He stared at it, wondering where it came from, but then remembered Roer had ditched his rifle in lieu of grabbing the Gimpy. He picked it up and ran outside.

"Pip, what do you want: plasma rifle or assault rifle?"

Poblede glanced at the two offered weapons before pointing at the assault rifle.

"We don't have time for me to work on my aim with the plasma rifle. Give me the AR."

Moss tossed her the rifle, which she awkwardly caught it with her good hand.

"Are you going to be able to reload that thing with only one hand?" he asked her. Reaching up to his chest, Moss quickly extracted the three rifle magazines he'd been hauling around for the last few hours. He had meant to throw them away earlier, as they had been nothing but dead weight, but now he couldn't have been gladder he hadn't gotten around to doing so.

"I'll figure something out," she assured him as he stacked the magazines on the ground at her feet. "You worry about getting those bombs in place."

"Right. Stay safe, okay?"

"I'm still breathing Moss," she reminded him.

Tossing the Spartan one of the bales of wire, Moss sprinted for the nearest staircase. Urged on by the increasing sounds of gunfire in the distance, Moss dashed down the stairs and ran for the corner directly under the Pelican. Matching the columns he needed to destroy with the image on the data pad, he tossed the concertina wire to the ground and looked around. The columns were a bit higher than he realized, but he spotted a pickup truck sitting nearby. Smashing in one of the windows with his plasma rifle so he could access the steering wheel, he released the parking brake and shifted the gear into neutral. Grunting, he pushed the truck back so that it was positioned in the area he needed to work, giving him a stable platform he could stand on.

Slipping on his leather gloves and pulling out his multi-tool, he unwrapped the wire and cut off several lengths he could use, tossing them into the bed of the truck for safe keeping.

The sight of the explosives swinging down from the floor above him caught his attention and Moss quickly climbed to his feet. He reached out and grabbed the warheads, making sure not to lean out too far least he accidently fall out of the garage, because that would just be the most embarrassing way to die after everything he'd been through, and pulled them in. Carefully stacking the bomb onto the ground, Moss set about trying to mount them to the columns. Moving to the first column, Moss made sure the base of the shaped charge was pointed inwards before quickly tying the warhead into place. It took a couple of tries and Moss ended up receiving a few cuts to his arms and hands, but eventually he was able to secure the warhead.

One down, fourteen more to go. Damn.

Working as fast as he possibly could, Moss set about attaching the rest of the explosives. He had just finished securing the fifth one when he heard the rumble of an explosion in the distance and the gunfire abruptly cut out. He looked up to see the orange glow of a fury explosion lighting up the sky in the direction they had come from.

Damn. Xanthus was down.

Moss took a second to bow his head in respect for Xanthus before quickly resuming his work. While he didn't want to diminish Xanthus' sacrifice in any way, truth of the matter was, Xanthus didn't last nearly as long as Moss had hoped or expected. With Xanthus' position having been overrun, there was now nothing holding the Covenant back. They had to get this Pelican out of here. Now.

Ripping his gloves off, Moss set about tying down the warhead in his arms. It was going to be painful, as the wire was going to cut up his fingers pretty badly, but right now he needed whatever dexterity he could get out of his frozen fingers. He'd just have to deal with the consequences later, hopefully when he was in orbit.

Twisting wires together, Moss hastily secured the second warhead to the column and took a step back to look at his handiwork. It was sloppy and probably wouldn't hold forever, but really, it just needed to stay on for at least the five minutes. With three columns armed and ready for demolition, Moss moved onto the next one.

" **CONTACT**!"

Moss jumped as he heard Poblede scream out loud over him and rifle fire began ringing out. He glanced around the column and at the street below in time to see a Covenant Grunt take a direct hit to his shoulder and go crashing to the ground while his companions scattered, diving left and right for cover.

"WORT WORT WORT!" Moss heard an Elite call out and he spot an Elite Major at the corner of the intersection a block away snap up his plasma rifle and open fire.

 _FWOOZFWOOZ!_

"Ah shit!" Moss swore as blue plasma bolts splashed against the side of the garage, throwing molten plasma in all directions.

Poblede rapidly returned fire and Moss could see the Elite's shields light up as a couple round hit home, but then one of the Grunts from before stepped out and began hosing down Poblede's position with Needler fire, forcing Poblede to lift her fire. Moss quickly seized his plasma rifle, leveled it, and fired.

 _FWOOZ!_

The blue bolt hit the ground, falling short of the Grunt by a few meters. The bolt hit a patch of ice and instantly boiled it away, filling the air with steam. Cussing out loud, Moss quickly adjusted his aim and fired again, this time managing to catch the Grunt right in the lower abdomen. The Grunt dropped to his knees before collapsing over backwards like a felled tree, screaming in pain. Moss didn't bother trying to finish him off, instead directing his next shot at an unwounded Grunt who darted out of cover to try and drag his injured friend to cover.

"MOSS HURRY THE FUCK UP!" Moss heard Poblede yell, even as she continued to fire on the advance Covenant. "I CAN'T HOLD THEM OFF FOREVER!"

"God dammit!" Moss snarled as he tossed his plasma rifle aside and returned his attention to the warheads.

Using his chest to hold one of the explosives in place, Moss grabbed a length of wire and, ignoring the pain as the razors sliced his fingers, wrapped the wire around the warhead and column several times. Grabbing the next two warheads, he did the same thing, even as the weapons fire around him rapidly grew in intensity.

" **LOADING**!" Poblede called out.

Spotting a couple Grunts attempting to take advantage of the lieu in gunfire by crossing the street towards the garage, Moss seized his plasma rifle and fired on them. With his first bolt, he inadvertently hit one of the plasma grenades that was attached to the belt of one of the Grunts, setting it off. Moss was forced to turn away as both Grunts were consumed in a massive explosion that lit up the entire street with a blinding blue light. As the explosion died down, Moss could see all that was left of the Grunts were two pairs of smoldering boot soles.

" **BACK UP**!" Poblede roared as she open fired again, and Moss quickly turned his attention back to his explosives. Four columns were primed and ready to go, which left only three that still needed to be wired. Moss could only hope Poblede would be able to hold out on her own because Moss had to stop getting distracted.

Forcing himself to ignore the fact that the incoming plasma fire was rapidly outweighing the outgoing gunfire, and that out of the corner of his eye Moss could see a ton of movement on the street below him, Moss worked on wiring up the next column. Setting up the explosives in record sped, Moss frantically moved on to the next column.

 _FWOOZ_!

Moss flinched and reflexively ducked as a neon purple needle lanced through the air right over his shoulders. He rolled behind the column he was working even as another two needles shattered against the concrete. Glancing outside, Moss could see two Skirmisher marksmen standing on the rooftops of the buildings across the street, taking shots at him. He saw one of the Skirmishers level his rifle and Moss ducked back down as another two needles came flying in, one of which ricocheted off the column and into the ground, the other punching a hole into the concrete, leaving a nasty gash several centimeters long and exposing the rebar beneath.

Knowing the Skirmishers couldn't get a bead on him as long as he stayed behind the column, Moss forced himself to ignore them and instead focus on his task at hand. He stuck the two warheads on and strapped them in place, even as the Skirmishers open fired again. At first, Moss wasn't sure why they were wasting ammo when they clearly couldn't hit him, and he briefing wondered if they were hoping to get lucky and hit his fingers. However, as he finished working on that column and was about to move onto the last one, he happened to glance behind him and noticed that the wire connecting the two columns had been neatly severed by the Skirmishers' carbine fire. Fuck! So that's what they were shooting at!

Knowing he was going to have to fix that, otherwise all the explosives wouldn't go off at the same time, Moss grabbed his plasma rifle and gritted his teeth. Taking a deep breath to steel himself, he abruptly whirled around the corner, leveled his rifle, and open fired. He managed to catch one of the Skirmishers out in the open. Unable to aim properly, Moss settled for saturating the area down with plasma fire, hoping to hit the Skirmisher through sheer volume. His plasma fire quickly overheated, forcing Moss to cease fire, but just as he did, he managed to get lucky: his last bolt hit the Skirmisher square in the face. The Skirmisher dropped his needle rifle and started to raise his hands to feel his face when his brain caught up to the fact that he was dead and he immediately toppled to the ground.

 _FWOOZ!_

Moss dropped to the ground as a bolt of blamite speared through the air right by his head, the bolt missing his skull by mere millimeters. Cursing, Moss rose up and began hosing down the area the Skirmisher, but he was no longer there. Moss could see the Skirmisher rolling to the side and he tried to track him, but the Skirmisher rolled upright and brought his needle rifle to bear, sending Moss diving for the floor.

 _FWOOZ FWOOZ!_

Two bolts smashed into the top of the barrier wall, showering Moss with shards of concrete. Planting his plasma rifle on top of the parapet, Moss lifted his head just high enough for him to look over the wall and fired at the Skirmisher. Unfortunately, they missed the Skirmisher by several meters, and the creature quickly took cover behind a nearby air vent. Moss fired again, but while plasma bolts had excellent stopping power, they were somewhat lacking in penetration power and thus were unable to punch through the aluminum material of the vent. The Skirmisher emerged from the other side and Moss quickly ducked back down as he fired again.

 _FWOOZ FWOOZ!_

Another two needles whizzed overhead and Moss quickly rose up and fired a few shots in the Skirmisher's direction, none of which even came close to hitting, before ducking back down again. As he did, Moss frantically looked around the area, searching for something that could help him end this fight. He simply didn't have the time to continue exchanging potshots with this damn alien but at the same time, Moss knew he couldn't afford to ignore him: if the Skirmisher was allowed to continue during unabated, eventually he might get lucky and hit one of the explosives, potentially setting it off. And if that happened, then Moss was really screwed.

 _ **POOOOSSHHHH**_ _!_

Moss flinched as he heard the sound of a rocket getting launched, but then he quickly realized they were outgoing rockets, not incoming. He glanced over the barrier wall and saw a number of rockets getting launched from the floor above him. It took him but a second to understand what was going on: someone, the Spartan more than likely, had figured out how to ignite the rocket fuel inside the remaining Anvil II missile bodies and fire them without their tubes. Without any real way to aim them, the rockets ended up flying in all directions. However, by sheer coincidence, one of the rockets flew directly across the street and slammed into the air vent the Skirmisher was taking cover behind.

There was a loud _thunk_ as the Anvil embedded itself into the vent, easily puncturing the thin aluminum. But, with the warhead having been removed, the hole in the metal was pretty much the extent of the damage the Anvil was capable of causing. However, while Moss knew the missile didn't have any explosives, the Skirmisher _didn't_.

Moss shot out of cover and laid into the trigger as the Skirmisher frantically dove out from behind the vent to try and avoid the explosion he thought was coming. To his credit, the Skirmisher immediately realized his mistake and somehow managed to remain calm despite all the incoming fire. Dropping down into a crouch to try and make himself a smaller target, the Skirmisher had enough time to bring his rifle up to bear when a bolt from Moss' wild spraying struck right about the area where the needle rifle's internal magazine was located. The heat from the plasma caused an instant cooking off, and the Skirmisher's needle rifle exploded. The Skirmisher's head snapped back as a bolt of blamite shot right through the roof of his mouth and into his brain, and he took a couple of steps backwards before he promptly sat down and went limp, the shattered remains of his rifle hanging loosely in his hands.

Holstering his plasma rifle, Moss ran for the last column and quickly tied down the last of the explosives, before running back to fix the damage the Skirmishers had caused. As he did, he happened to glance outside and was terrified by what he saw. Covenant soldiers were everywhere, advancing onto the garage was almost no opposition. Occasionally, another Anvil would be launched at the incoming horde, but by now the Covenant had figured out the rockets had less explosive power than a firecracker and were outright ignoring them. Moss could still hear Poblede's rifle going off, but for the most part she was drowned out by the sheer volume of return fire. Moss estimated they had seconds, at best, before they were overrun.

Twisting the last wire together, Moss grabbed his plasma rifle and sprinting for the stairs.

" **BOMBS ARE IN PLACE**!" he screamed at the top of lungs, even though he wasn't sure if Poblede or even the Spartan would be able to hear him over the chaos. Still, he had to try.

" **FALL BACK**!" he yelled as he mounted the staircase.

 _CRACK!_

Moss jumped as a needle bounced off the metal handrail just to his left. He glanced over the side.

Coming up the stairs from the bottom floor were a ton of Covenant infantry, including several Elites. One of them raised his needle rifle again and fired right at Moss but because he hadn't bothered to stop running before he shot, the needle missed Moss by a fair amount.

"Ah fuck!" Moss yelped even as he poked his rifle over the side and began spraying plasma fire down the stairs. "PIP! BLOW THE CHARGES!"

Moss knew the chances of Poblede actually doing that were slim to none, even if she could hear him, but there was a chance the Spartan could hear him and would do as commanded. Pip would be pissed at Moss for doing what he was doing, but frankly he didn't care. If the choice came down between his life and hers, he'd choose her life every time.

Of course, with that being said, he was still going to try and make it.

He continued to hold down the trigger even as he ran up the stairs to the fifth floor. His plasma rifle started misfiring before it quit shooting entirely. Whether it had run out of energy or merely overheated, Moss couldn't tell. Hurtling the weapon at the lead Covenant on the off chance it would cause them to hesitate, even for a few second, Moss launched himself onto the fifth floor.

The Spartan was already in the Pelican, spinning up the engines to full power, but to his dismay, Poblede was still maintaining her position, firing her rifle ineffectively over the barrier wall at the Covenant.

"Pip, fall back, now!" Moss screamed at her as he headed in her direction, intent on dragging her ass onboard if he had to. There was no need though. He saw her stand up and fire a couple of shots before her rifle just stop shooting, even though she was clearly pulling the trigger. He saw her glance at the ammo counter and she must have been out of ammo because she immediately tossed the rifle away and began sprinting for the Pelican. At that sight, Moss immediately divert his path and headed straight for the Pelican, the light spilling out of the open cargo bay looking very much like a beacon in a sea of darkness.

Moss was a bit closer to the Pelican than Poblede was, so he managed to make it onboard first. Planting himself at the top of the ramp, Moss grabbed the ramp controller and hovered his thumb over the button that would close the ramp as he waited for Poblede to join him.

"Come on Pip!" he yelled at her. "Hurry the fuck up! We're getting out of here!"

He could see her panting in exertion as she sprinted at top speeds. Sweat was rolling down her face and the stubs of her hand had started bleeding again, but aside from that, Moss was relieved to note she had somehow managed to avoid getting injured in the firefight.

She was a couple of meters away from the Pelican when Moss hit the button to shut the ramp, knowing she was close enough that she would be able to make it onboard before the ramp fully closed. Letting go of the controls, he reached out to help pull her onboard -

And then that was when a single purple needle lanced right through her neck...

…and Moss' world promptly fell apart.


	16. Chapter 15

Broman! Welcome back . Yeah, I know, I'm a horrible person. I killed Pip, just when she was only a few steps away from making it out alive. So close! Yet so far…

So, I toyed with the idea of having Maria-062 play a much larger role in this story, but I ended up deciding against it because ultimately, the Spartan is just a MacGuffin; her role is simply only to justify the reason for the story in the first place. This story is really my attempt at depicting how a regular soldier might go about reacting to an event such as this. That's part of the reason why I crippled the Spartan: to justify her general lack of input and passive role in the story (the other reason was, as I mentioned a couple chapters ago, I couldn't really think of a situation where a Spartan-II would need to be rescued by a bunch of NPCs unless she was severely wounded by forces outside of her control.)

And you're right about the plasma melting through the aluminum. I didn't really think about that when I wrote it out. Truth be told, that entire chapter is kind of funky of you stop to think about it. Like, what direction are the Covenant even attacking from? If Moss is setting explosives directly underneath the Pelican, that would imply he was at the front of the parking garage. But we know the three of them entered the garage from the rear, because that's how they would have left in the first place. And if the Covenant were following them, then it would only be logical to assume the Covenant would assault the garage from the rear because that's the only direction they would have known. So… how was Moss able to set the explosives and see the Covenant directly in front of him?

…

…

Who the hell wrote this crap again?

As you might be able to tell, I didn't really think that one through all the way. That's what I get for trying to make everything a Chekov's gun, I guess. Real simple (and lame) explanation for this discrepancy will just have to be that Poblede was wrong in her directions (and who can blame her…) and that they didn't truly backtrack the entire way but instead, ended up returning to the garage from the front.

Anyways, new chapter. Just a head's up, this chapter might be a little bit confusing as I was trying something slightly different. I'm hoping it makes sense but if enough people don't get it, I'll add an explanation at the end of the chapter.

* * *

 **Chapter 15**

He couldn't move.

He couldn't think.

He couldn't even breathe.

All he could do was watch.

…watch, as if in slow motion, the life instantly fade away from Pip's eyes

…watch as all the tension in her body was released as her muscles stopped functioning, like a computer whose battery was ripped out

…watch as she stopped running and just... collapse, like a puppet whose strings had been cut

…watch as in that very instant, Corporal Piper Poblede, his very best friend in the universe...

…the one he would have _killed_ for

…the one he should have _**died**_ for

...simply cease to be.

The ramp to the Pelican closed at the same time as Pip's body hit the ground, but Moss honestly couldn't tell if the vibrations he felt were from the door, or from his heart breaking. He didn't know how long he stood there just staring at the door, time being a meaningless construct to him now, but eventually, as if someone else was controlling his body, Moss numbly turned around and walked into the cockpit. The Spartan was already there, sitting there in the pilot's seat, hands on the stick, and rearing to go. She must have said something, but Moss couldn't hear her. He fell into the co-pilot's seat and stared blankly out the window.

"She's dead," he heard himself say, but it didn't sound like his voice. It was like a stranger had spoken those words for him. His voice was so dull and emotionless. Like there was nothing left but a shell.

Beneath him, Moss could feel as the Spartan hit the afterburners, the entire Pelican beginning to vibrate as power surged, and the engines throbbed with unreleased energy, but true to what the Spartan had noted earlier, that wasn't enough to even budge the Pelican, trapped as tightly as it was. That was, until the Spartan brought her finger down on an electronic key fob sitting on one of the control panels. There was a loud rumble and Moss felt his stomach drop as the floor below him collapse. Now free to move, the Pelican shot out of the garage, as if a giant had grabbed the Pelican and thrown it.

For a few seconds, it looked as if the Pelican was about crash into the building directly across the street, but then the Spartan quickly yanked back on the control yoke and Moss was shoved against his seat as they headed straight up into the air. They rocketed through the sky, and Moss dully realized they were headed directly for orbit. He supposed he should have been scanning the skies for enemy fighters, but right now he just... couldn't. All he think of was what he had told the Spartan: she's dead. Those words echoed in his mind.

She's dead.

 _She's_ dead.

Pip was dead.

Pip was _dead_ and he wasn't and... that wasn't right. This wasn't supposed to be how her story ended. She was supposed to go home, get married, have a lot of kids, grow old, spend most of her twilight years boring her great-grandkids with stories about her time in the Army and...

And...

...now that was never going to happen.

What was he supposed to do now?

As the Pelican began traversing through the upper atmosphere, Moss abruptly realized that was a question he was never getting an answer to.

The pain came out of nowhere.

One moment, he was fine, the next? Fury white hot pokers began jabbing the insides of his eyes. His brain began to feel tight, as if his head was trapped in a vice, and pressure began building so rapidly, Moss was afraid his skull was about to split open. There was a stabbing sensation right behind his temple, like a midget was trying to cut his way out of Moss' head. The control panel began to swim in front of him as the edges of his vision started to grow dark, and he opened his mouth to scream but all that came out was a bunch of bile. Through his blurry eyes, Moss could see the front of his torso was now covered in blood tinted vomit.

This was it. This was the end.

White noise began filling his ears, and Moss felt his eyes roll to the back of his head.

"Sergeant!"

The world went black and Moss was no more.

…

...

…Or so he thought.

The next thing he knew, he was slowly opening his eyes. He felt strangely numb.

No. Not numb. That wasn't the right way to describe it.

He felt...empty. Like he was completely and utterly bereft of all sensation. Like he was nothing but a void. He couldn't feel...anything, but it was like he was extremely aware of that nothingness. It didn't make sense, but Moss just couldn't find any other way to describe it. Nor did he really feel the need to.

He was in a dark room. It was a small, confined space, Moss could tell, as he could feel something pressing against his back and his chest. But where he was, Moss couldn't begin to guess. He was completely disorientated. He couldn't even figure out if he was sitting, standing, or even laying down. He couldn't see, smell, or even hear anything as his ears were filled with white noise.

Yellow sparks abruptly flew across his vision, as if something electronic had just popped. The sparks lit up the area long enough for Moss to realize where he was: in the cockpit of a wrecked Pelican. And it had to be a wreck, as the entire cockpit was crushed, as if the Pelican had been involved in a head-on collision. The pressure Moss felt against his torso was actually the control panel, having been casually shoved against his chest by the impact, pinning him against his seat. How he had managed to avoid getting pancaked, he had no idea, and he supposed it didn't really matter.

Out of the corner of his left eye, Moss saw movement. Out of the darkness came an arm. The arm snaked towards him and it wasn't long before he felt two warm fingers pressing against the carotid artery on his neck. Someone checking to see if he was still alive?

A shower of sparks abruptly poured over him, and Moss heard, or more accurately, felt, the whirling of a saw. He rolled his eyes upwards in time to see a circular saw blade, its edge glowing orange from friction, puncture through the metal before it was withdrawn, and a curtain of white light came pouring through the hole. That curtain quickly expanded as the metal roof over his head was peeled back, flooding the cockpit with light.

A shadow fell over him and Moss glanced up to see a figure had appeared in the hole. Moss could tell the figure was staring at him, so Moss stared back. At once, the man became extremely animated, and he turned his head to shout something at someone unseen. As he did, the light silhouetted his profile and Moss realized who it was: it was Griffin.

Griffin was alive?! How? And what was he doing here! Moss had no idea and frankly, he didn't care. All he cared was that Griffin was here, and he was alright.

Griffin turned back to Moss and started reaching towards him, and as he did, Moss managed to get a closer look at his face and immediately felt his heart plummet. He was wrong: that wasn't Griffin at all. It was just some dude he had never seen before

As Moss his heart filled with disappointment, not-Griffin started climbing through the hole and in the dim light, Moss could see him mouthing, 'Don't worry! You're going to be alright.'

Was he?

Moss blinked.

And just like that, Moss found himself somewhere else.

White lights were passing through his eyes, going from top to bottom in a fairly systematic pattern. Maybe one every three seconds. What the hell was this? Was this supposed to be some sort of code? A message? Or was he supposed to be getting hypnotized?

Distracted by the mystery of the lights, it took Moss quite a few moments to notice the whirling noise that was filling his ears. Once he did though, Moss quickly forgot about the lights to focus on the new mystery: what was that noise? It almost sounded as if someone was pushing a cart across a linoleum floor. Or something. Whatever it was, they apparently had a long ways to go as the noise continued non-stop for almost a minute. Truth be told, it was getting kind of annoying.

Then that was when Moss noticed the hand.

There was a gloved hand just to his right and slightly above him just out of his sightlines. It was just there, not doing anything. Moss tried to turn his head to see if the hand was actually attached to anything, but he found he couldn't move his head. At all. It was like his neck was stuck in a vice or something. Awkward, but strangely not the most alarming thing in the world, Moss rolled his eyes in that direction as far they could go.

Attached to the hand was an arm. Attached to the arm was a shoulder. Attached to the shoulder was…wait a minute… was that… Roer?

Ha! Roer had made it! Just like Moss had thought! And somehow, he had made back to orbit before Moss had! Clever bastard!

Wait! Roer's family! Were they alright? Did they make it too?

Moss opened his mouth to ask, but found he couldn't as there was some sort of bag covering his mouth. Because of that, instead of words, all that came out was some sort of weird gurgling noise.

Roer reached out to pat him on the shoulder.

"Hang on," Moss heard him say. "I got you buddy."

Buddy? Since when did Roer call him buddy?

Moss glanced at Roer again and this time noticed several things off about situation. For starters, that wasn't Roer. The two men looked remarkably similar, but this man seemed to be a bit fatter than Roer was, as well as being much older. Plus, he was wearing the uniform of the UNSC Navy, and the shoulder insignia of a hospital corpsman.

Moss couldn't help but feel a flash of anger at the man. How dare he look like Roer?

The second thing Moss noticed was the appeared to be floating. On his back. In midair.

Well that was different.

There was a hiss of what sounded like automatic doors before a doorframe passed over his sightlines, traveling from top to bottom.

What?

Abruptly, the pieces clicked. The man wasn't floating. Moss was merely laying down. On some sort of cart or a... a... stretcher. He was in a stretcher! Which would explain the whirling noise, as well the bag over his face. It would also explain why he couldn't move his head: he was in a neck brace. He being on a stretcher would also explain the flashing lights: they were the hallway lamps flashing by overhead as they traveled by underneath. It was all starting to make sense now.

Except for the why.

Why exactly was Moss lying down on a stretcher again? It didn't make sense. He felt perfectly fine. What happened? What was going on?

Moss tried to glance in the direction of not-Roer, intent on asking, but the stretcher abruptly turned a corner and somehow Moss ended up staring right into a very bright light, forcing him to close his eyes.

A loud shrilling noise filled his ears.

His eyes snapped open and Moss found himself standing upright in a darkened room. Startled by the abrupt change in his surroundings, Moss took a moment to reorientate himself before looking around.

Moss had seen enough medical dramas to instantly realize where was: he was in some sort of operating room. He was surrounded by all sorts of medical equipment, most of which he only had the vague notion of their purpose. Most of his attention though was drawn to the center of the room where, taking up most of the space, was the operating table. Position directly under a single bright white light, there was a single man lying on the table surrounded by a doctor and a number of nurses, all clad in light blue scrubs, as well as surgical scrub caps and masks. None of them seemed to notice his presence.

"Crash crash crash!" one of the nurses was yelling, and Moss finally figured out what that shrilling noise was. Of course; that should have been obvious, given his current location. He tried to see who exactly was dying on the table, but the nurses were blocking his view and he didn't want to disturb them.

"Code blue!" the doctor yelled and Moss felt himself stiffen and did a quick double take off the doctor. "Immediate resuscitation team to operating room three!"

The doctor continued to bark out orders, but Moss was no longer listening. He had gone very still the moment she had begun speaking. Her voice and her mannerisms remind Moss a lot of Norén, and for a moment he could have sworn he was looking at her. But he knew it was impossible. Norén was dead, just like Griffin, just like Roer, and just like... Pip. Moss had watched Norén die. No, not just die.

Moss had killed her.

He shuddered, and quickly turned away, not wanting to look at not-Norén any longer than he had to. In an attempt to distract himself, Moss instead turned his focus on the poor man dying on the operating table.

The man was a mess. The doctors had cut away his uniform revealing a mess of bruises, burns, cuts, and broken bones. The top half of his head was curtained off and he had some sort of device hooked up to his cranium. A holographic screen was being emitted from the device, showing the man's brain and by the looks of it, he'd been undergoing brain surgery when he had started flatlining.

Curious, Moss took a closer look at the screen to see what was wrong with the man, doctor-patient confidentially be damned.

Huh. If Moss was reading the screen correctly, then it appeared as the man was suffering from a ruptured brain aneurysm.

Well. That didn't sound good.

Moss was distracted when one of the nurses abruptly walked up and strapped a device to the man's chest. At first Moss thought they were attaching a defibrillator, but when the nurse stepped back and the device automatically began applying chest compressions, Moss realized it was an automated CPR machine.

Huh. That was pretty cool. Moss didn't even know that was a thing. That would have been helpful a few...hours ago.

As the device worked, Moss and the rest of the room stood there in silence, watching and waiting to see if the man would start breathing again.

Abruptly, Moss felt something press his chest and he looked down only, there was nothing there.

Confused, Moss was further distracted when he heard someone said into his ear, "Come back to us Sergeant."

Moss jerked as he heard not-Norén's voice in his ear, but when he looked up, she was nowhere near him. Instead, she was crouched by the man on the table, speaking into _the man's_ ear.

...what?

Moss glanced at the screen and noticed for the first time the patient's name was written at the bottom. It simply read: Shen, Moss.

Well...

...shit.

Moss gasped.

He was immediately assaulted with a cacophony of noises: loud beeps, people shouting, electrical whining, the clanging of metal on metal, and above all, the sound of his own lungs as he tried to breathe but couldn't as something was wrapped around his face. He tried to reach up and rip it off but he couldn't move his arms so he wrenched open his eyes only to be immediately be blinded by a bright white light hovering over his head but the light was quickly replaced by a number of people wearing light blue gowns and all of them were saying something but he couldn't hear any of them and he tried to look around but it felt like his head was locked in a vice and then one of the people moved letting Moss see he was in a room that looked strangely familiar but he couldn't figure out why and...

Moss felt something prick his arm and immediately he felt lightheaded. The world started to spin in front of his very eyes and his eyelids began to feel heavy. He tried to fight the feeling but it was a losing battle. He could feel himself slipping away to -

Nothing.

Moss slowly opened his eyes. He found himself standing in an open field, with nothing around but grass as far as the eyes could see. It was dark, but the sky was covered in a kaleidoscope of stars, casting a pale blue glow over the landscape, the only source of light around. Moss did not recognize where he was.

Impulsively, he glanced down at himself. He was dressed exactly as he had been on Actium, just before he had boarded the Pelican. Destroyed armor, torn up fatigues, cut up hands, broken bones, bruises and everything. Yet, he strangely felt no pain.

Was he dead?

He heard the rustling of grass behind him and he whirled around, half expecting to see the grim reaper standing there but instead, all he saw was...

"Pip," Moss reverently whispered.

She stood there in the grass, not moving, with a sad expression on her face. Unlike Moss, she looked...whole. Healthy, even. She was wearing a simple set of clean Army fatigues, without a speck of dirt in sight. All the cuts and bruises she had accumulated through the day were gone, and her hand was intact, all five fingers present and accounted for. She looked almost exactly the same way she had when Moss first met her.

Pip smiled at him, a sad but genuine smile, and then, without a word, turned around and slowly sank to the ground, taking a seat among the grass. For a few seconds, Moss just stared at her, afraid to do anything in case she simply disappeared, but then she glanced over her shoulder at him with an expectant look on her face and Moss quickly realized what she wanted him to do. He slowly walked over to her and then eased himself to the ground next to her. He glanced at her, but she wasn't looking at him. Instead, she was just staring up at the sky, the stars reflecting in her eyes, and all of a sudden, Moss was stuck with the realization that he had so much he wanted to tell her. So many thing he had wanted to say, but never had the courage to do so. But seeing the serene expression on her face, words failed him. Instead, he decided to mimic her. He turned his gaze upwards and together, they sat there, staring at the stars.

It was a strange feeling. Ever since he had learned about the Covenant, stars had taken a new meaning. No longer were they objects of wonder and awe, they were symbols of malice and hate. They were reminders that mankind was not alone in this universe, and that the universe was a cold, hard, unforgiving place. And that behind all the glitter and glamour, the stars hid a dark and dangerous foe.

But tonight? There was no maliciousness to be found. No animosity. Only sadness.

Almost as if it was acting of its own accord, Moss felt his hand reach out and find Pip's. His fingers intertwined with hers and he gently pulled her close.

Moss felt Pip tighten her grip on his hand and out of the corner of his eye, Moss could see her turning ever so slightly towards him. She had that same soft smile on her face yet at the same time, tears were flowing freely down her face and Moss was startled to find the same thing was happening to him. He let his tears fall freely, not wanting to let go, least he lose her forever.

They sat there the rest of the night, holding hands and not saying a word, just watching as the stars pass overhead.


	17. Chapter 16

Well, it would seem that the vast majority of readers interpreted the last scene of the last chapter to mean that Moss had died. That's… not what happened. Moss waking up after receiving the automated CPR and him wearing his tattered combat gear in contrast to Pip, who was completely unharmed, was supposed to be my way of saying he survived, and that last scene was only supposed to be a dream/hallucination, a way for Moss to say goodbye. However, upon re-reading that chapter, that's not clear at all. Moss being dead is _exactly_ how it can be interpreted. I _definitely_ should have been clearer about his survival. All I can say to that is: whoops. My bad.

So, just so we're clear, Moss is **not** dead. At least not yet… (just kidding. He's probably got another good eighty or so years to live.)

Many thanks to Broman, as always, for leaving yet another excellent review, as well as thanks to ComissarBS, who has left a couple of reviews in the last few days on some of the past chapters, of which I would like to respond to now and hopefully address some of his concerns. ( **Warning, very long notes ahead. If you're not interesting, please feel free to skip down to the actual chapter.** )

1) The reason why I gave the UNSC Air Force such a prominent role in this story is because in real life, any warfare conducted in outer space would actually fall under the responsibility of the Air Force, at least in the United States military (kind of like how it's portrayed in the TV series, _Stargate SG-1_.) Now, I do understand the UNSC is **not** the US military, and in game, we know for certain the UNSC Navy is responsible for conducting most of the fighting in space. However, for me personally, I just don't see the Air Force giving up that responsibility (and more importantly, the corresponding budget) to the Navy without receiving some other duties in return.

Now, we know the UNSC doesn't possess any sort of teleporting technology like that in the _Star Trek_ universe, which always made me wonder how the UNSC managed to transport the mass amount of material and manpower they would need to conduct extended campaigns on different planet in different solar systems entirely. A quick look at the UNSC Navy ships on halopedia seems to show that (outside of the colony ships,) none of them have the capacity to carry more than a single Marine regiment at any given time.

It is true that it's entirely possible the Navy does possess a large amount of cargo ships, and that they just haven't made an appearance yet (kind of like, the Merchant Marines of the United States,) but that lack of confirmation gave me a chance to go ahead and define exactly what that compromise the Air Force had with the Navy, giving up that chance to have the dominating role in space warfare. So, like I decided in my general notes for chapter 1, the Navy is responsible for the warships while the Air Force is responsible for all the interstellar transportation and heavy lifting (which, if you think about it, is only a natural expansion of their other role: strategic and tactical airlifting.)

The Air Force's possession of carriers is again what I feel like would be part of the compromise. In the real world, outside of the Russian Navy, aircraft carriers are not equipped to engage other warships. Their firepower comes from the fighters they carry, which again sort of falls under another one of an Air Forces' duties: the seizure and maintenance of air superiority which in the real world, is achieved by the use of air superiority fighters. In the Halo Universe, it gets a little tricky as "space" superiority I feel could only be achieved by the warships the Navy possess, but "air" superiority (as in, within the atmosphere of a planet) could only be achieved by fighters because (unless my science is completely wrong, which is always possible) the large size of a Naval warships would prevent them from achieving any sort of maneuverability in an area with such a high gravity pull.

One last thing I'd like to address (because this turned out to be a lot longer than I intended,) I know in canon the UNSC Navy is in possession of some space carriers already, but I saw them as sort of analogous to modern day amphibious assault ships. While amphibious assault ships aren't capable of ship-to-ship engagements, they do carry a little bit of everything, just like the carriers in the Halo Universe.

Keep in mind, everything I just said above is my opinion and my opinion alone, and I'm not attempting to claim it's canon in the least bit. This is just how I see it. I'd be curious to find out what do you think? What role (if any) do you see the UNSC Air Force playing?

2) Spartans do weigh over a ton, but most of that weight is in their armor. As I mentioned in the chapter, KAI-019 was missing a number of components from his armor, cutting down on some of the weight. That, and coupled with the planet's slightly lower gravity, would reduce his weight by a fair amount. Now, he's still going to be very, **very** heavy, heavy enough that it would be difficult if not outright impossible for a vanilla NPC to move around, especially one that's supposed to be as injured as badly as Moss was. I'll admit, that's just poor writing on my part, but hopefully it's not as ridiculous as it initially seemed.

3) Pip would most definitely gotten a prosthetic arm. Like you said, it's very doubtful the UNSC would have simply thrown away a highly experienced soldier (she's actually a combat engineer, not an infantryman, even the vast majority of what she's been doing in this story are generally task for the infantry, not a combat engineer,) especially when they've already lost so many in the war. Her line about getting tossed aside was supposed to be my subtle way of hinting that, while she hasn't come out and alright said it, she's actually really bothered by the loss of her hand, and she's scared of what will become of her afterwards.

Like your other concerns, this issue is not really well addressed in the story, but unlike the others, that's actually deliberate on my part. This story's focus is on Moss, not Pip, so I wasn't that interested in delving too deeply into her psychological issues.

Anyways, I hope that satisfactory addresses your concerns, and hopefully this chapter will address any of your other questions.

Enjoy!

( **END OF NOTES HERE** )

* * *

 **Chapter 16**

The sound of rhythmic beeping was what woke him up. He laid there, on his back, listening to the beeping, as he tried to mentally orientate himself, but it was difficult. His brain felt like mush and his every thought was slow. And confused. It almost felt like he was suffering from a concussion all over again, just without any of the pain, fortunately. Where was he? And what was going on?

With some concerted effort, Moss managed to wrench his eyelids open. Light filled his eyes but he couldn't make anything out as they were filled with crud, making it hard to see clearly. Moss reached to wipe it away, but even something as simple as that was difficult. His muscles felt stiff, and his body heavy. Every movement felt like an uphill battle. He hadn't felt this crappy since his first day at Jump School, when, not only had he been suffering from a bad cold, but the Black Hats had also chosen to smoke his class for five hours straight because one of his classmates had decided to talk back to the cadre.

Idiot.

At any case, Moss was able to eventually clear his eyes enough to see, although it took far longer than he would have liked. It took a couple more seconds for his eyes to adjust to the light before he was eventually able to look around.

Moss was currently laying down on a somewhat stiff bed, wearing some sort of thin gown. There was some sort of device attached to his right ring finger, and he could feel his head was wrapped up in some bandages. The walls and the ceiling were painted in some sort of beige color, and the air smelled very clean. Sterile, even. To his left, there was a large window that was letting the sunlight stream in. To his right, a series of monitors, one of which was clearly showing his heart rate. It was fairly obvious where he was: in some sort of hospital.

Tilting his head to the right a bit more, Moss was a bit surprised to see a number of folding chairs set up just beyond the monitors. Even more surprising than the chairs though was the occupant: sitting alone in one of the chairs was Sergeant Ferguson, his squad leader back on Newsaka. What was he doing here?

Moss tried to call out to him, but all that came out was a weak groan. The noise did manage to attract Ferguson's attention, and as he looked up from the data pad he was reading, a wide smile appeared on his face.

"Well!" Ferguson cheerfully greeted. "Welcome back to the land of the living Cor... sorry, Sergeant Shen!"

Moss coughed.

"Water," he managed to rasp out.

"What? Oh right, sorry."

Ferguson reached out passed the monitors and temporarily disappeared from Moss' view. He heard something scrape against a hard surface before he heard the sound of water getting poured. Then Ferguson reappeared with a plastic cup in hand. Leaning forward, he brought the cup up to Moss' mouth and tilted it forward so Moss could take a sip. Moss reflexively flinched at how cold the water was. Taking a few moments to allow his lips to get used to the temperature, Moss took another sip before greedily downing the rest of the contents of the cup. As the empty cup was pulled back, Moss leaned back onto his pillow, feeling a bit more refreshed.

"Want some more?" Ferguson asked, even as Moss heard the sound of more water getting poured.

"No, I'm good," Moss managed to hoarsely say.

"Thank you," he added as an afterthought.

"Hey, don't mention it," Ferguson lightly replied as Moss heard the small _thud_ of the pitcher getting replace on the table, and Ferguson sat back down in his chair, staring at Moss with a goofy grin on his face. "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," Moss bluntly stated. A thousand questions starting swimming around in his brain, and Moss wasn't too sure which one he should ask first, but he decided to start with the basics. "Where am I?"

"Recovery wing at the Den Brotheridge(1) Medical Center. Fort Glaznov, Skopje," came Ferguson gentle response.

Moss took a moment to digest that information. Huh. He knew this place. His dorm was like, a block away, and he used to walk by this building all the time. He had never been inside naturally, but he supposed that had changed.

"What happened?" he finally asked.

Ferguson let out a small laugh. "I think the better question buddy is, what _didn't_ happen?"

At Moss' questioning look, Ferguson began to run down the list. "You had: fractures on both forearms, a cracked skull, broken ribs, bruised sternum, about a dozen and a half knife cuts to the arms, infected cut to your left palm, gunshot wound in the right foot, ruptured ear drum, bleeding in your stomach lining, a _brain aneurysm_ , and a pretty bad case of hypothermia. You also had a wide range of cuts, burns, bruises, and frostbite. And those are only the injuries I heard about. Not being related to you, I don't have the full rundown, so there could have been a lot more." Ferguson folded his arms around the back of his head and leaned back in his chair. "All that after one day of combat on Actium. I know you're tough but damn. You're lucky to be alive Moss. Sounds like you guys got put through the wringer."

They had but Moss didn't want to think about that right now. He suddenly felt very disinterested in asking anymore questions about his circumstances and instead casted around the room for something else to talk about. He spotted a spring jacket draped across the back of one of the empty seats and it occurred to him it couldn't have belonged to Ferguson as it was just way too small to fit his broad shoulders.

"Who else was here?" Moss asked, nodding in the direction of the jacket.

If Ferguson realized Moss was trying to change subjects, he gave no indication. Instead, he said, "Your family. You just missed them actually. Your sister and your younger brother just took your parents down to the mess hall to get something to eat." He paused. "Hey. Speaking of your brother..." He began.

"Uh oh," Moss mutter out loud, giving Ferguson a wary look. "What did he do?"

"Oh, nothing," Ferguson slyly replied. "It's just... dude, your brother is hot!"

Moss choked before he burst out laughing. Of all the things he expected Ferguson to say, that was not one of them.

"Dude, not cool," Moss managed to gasp out between laughs.

"No man, I'm serious!" Ferguson insisted. "Seriously, like, wow."

"Sergeant, he's my little brother."

"I know! That means you can hook me up, right?" Ferguson replied.

"Sergeant, he's like, five years younger than you are!"

Ferguson shrugged. "Doesn't violate the seven year dating rule," he pointed out with a nod of his head, as if that settled everything.

Moss glared at him. Or, at least tried to. His face didn't really seem to want to cooperate. "Aren't you married Sergeant?"

"What?" Ferguson said a bit defensively. "I can still look, I just can't touch, right?"

Moss stared at him. "Sure, why not?" he said slowly. "But my brother? Seriously?"

"Have you seen how dreamy his eyes look?" Ferguson teased.

Moss couldn't help but roll his eyes. He knew Ferguson was playing with stereotypes right now in order to make Moss feel better, and damn if it wasn't working. For a few moments, Moss allowed himself to believe they were back on Skopje, weeks away from deploying to Newsaka, just joking and laughing and teasing each other like they always did. And that the last few months had been nothing more than a horrible nightmare. But then Moss noticed Ferguson's leg. Ferguson was wearing his PT shorts, allowing Moss to see Ferguson's entire left leg was gone, having been replaced by a simple metal one instead.

And just like that, Moss came crashing back down to reality.

"Your leg," Moss whispered.

"What? Oh right," Ferguson said as he reached up to awkwardly scratched behind his ear. "Yeah, there really wasn't much they could do to save it. I mean, it was pretty much amputated already. All they did really was finish it off."

"I'm sorry," Moss muttered.

"Don't be," Ferguson said shortly. "Got fitted for this leg a couple weeks ago. It's taking a bit longer than I would I like to get used to it... but I'll get there. Eventually." He reached down and patted his leg before snorting. "Sucks. I was hoping to get a leg that could shoot laser or something but I guess tech like that isn't available for peons like us."

Then he brightened. "But hey! At least I don't have to worry about shaving it any longer!"

He winked at Moss, clearly trying to coax at least a smile out of Moss, but Moss was no longer in the mood for jokes. A third of the squad had died the same night Ferguson had lost his leg: Shin, Bashir, and McTavish. That had been bad enough as it was, but if Moss had known the rest of the squad was going to die less than two weeks later, he would have...well, he had no idea what he would have done, but he would have done _something_.

"They're all dead," Moss said somberly, his throat beginning to feel tight.

Ferguson sighed.

"I though as much," he softly replied. "When I heard you were here, I had hoped the rest of the squad was just still stuck fighting on the colony but..." He trailed off as Moss shook his head.

"No, they're all gone," Moss sadly confirmed. "Griffin, Roer, Norén... even Pip." He paused as a thought occurred to him. "No, wait a minute. Roer is still alive!" Moss announced as he started to get excited. "Roer could still be alive! We have to go recuse him! I've got to go recuse him!"

Moss sat up in his bed and started to remove the various devices attached to his body.

"Moss, what are you doing?" Ferguson demanded to know.

"I've got a man missing Sergeant, I've got to go retrieve him!" Moss announced.

"Moss, you're not authorized to leave that bed!" Ferguson said as he quickly climbed to his feet and placed a hand on Moss' chest, trying to prevent him from leaving.

"I don't care, I've got a missing man!" Moss protested as he weakly tried to shove Ferguson's hand away. "I've got to get him. _We've_ got to rescue him!"

"Sergeant Shen, **stop!"**

Ferguson's barking order cut right through Moss' mental haze, triggering his soldier's instincts, and he reflexively obeyed. Settling back down in his bed, Moss watched as Ferguson waited until he was sure Moss was calm, before withdrawing his hand.

"Look, Moss, I know you're worried, but you're not making any sense," Ferguson told him sympathetically. "Start over from the beginning. First off, _who is Roer?_ "

Moss stared at him in confusion. "Roer is Roer. You know, Specialist Cliff Roer?"

Ferguson shook his head.

A flash of insight struck him and Moss immediately brightened. "Two! You remember that FNG assigned to Shin's team just before Hill 937? That's Roer."

"Oh. Him," Ferguson said with comprehension. "Okay… you said he's missing? Where did he go missing?"

Moss opened his mouth to explain how Roer was forced to desert while the entire squad was running a mission behind enemy lines in order to go rescue his family, but then hesitated. For starters, that didn't make Roer sound good at all. And then secondly, given what they had been searching for, Moss wasn't entirely sure the fact his squad had been running a mission behind enemy lines was common knowledge. The last thing he wanted to do was get Ferguson in trouble with ONI for knowing something he didn't have clearance to know.

"We were holding a defensive position," Moss slowly began, "but then we got outflanked and were forced to retreat. I guess, I don't know, in the confusion, Roer accidently got left behind. I don't know." He shrugged. "Look, the point is, Roer is still alive, he's just lost somewhere in the Covenant occupied sector of Byzas."

"Byzas? The city of Byzas?"

"Yeah," Moss grunted. "The city of Byzas."

Adjusting his gown, Moss happen to glance up at Ferguson's face and was startled to see an expression he rarely saw on Ferguson. It took him a few moments to realize what it was: one of absolute pity.

"Moss," Ferguson slowly began. "Byzas is gone."

That caught Moss' attention and he turned to Ferguson face fully. "Gone? What do you mean gone?"

"Gone as in the city has been completely destroyed. It's been wiped off the face of the planet."

"W…what?" Moss stammered. "How?"

Ferguson shook his head. "After the Covies took the city, it was only a matter of time before they rounded everyone up and execute them all. I guess as a sort of last minute 'fuck you,' a certain Colonel Akono Menteith of the Army's 53rd Armored Division detonated two Havoc tactical nuclear warheads just on the outskirts of the city limits. Did a lot of damage too. ONI is saying he managed to take out three of the largest Covenant staging areas in recorded history. Now, given that it's ONI telling us this, that's probably a slight exaggeration, but still..."

Ferguson reached out and placed a comforting hand on Moss' shoulder. "I'm sorry Moss. But if your friend was anywhere within, I don't even know, a two hundred kilometer radius of the city… I'm afraid there's no way he would have survived that, even if he had survived long enough to reach that point."

That announcement sent Moss reeling and he found himself gripping his bedsheets, as if they could keep him steady. Realistically, he knew Roer's chances of survival were almost nonexistent, but there had always been that small hope that Roer would have been able to avoid detection long enough for friendly forces to recover him.

But now that hope was gone.

"I… I don't understand," Moss heard himself say. "How did we lose the city so quickly?"

"Quickly?"

"With all the reinforcements we were throwing into the city, how did the Covenant manage to take the city in a couple of days?"

Moss stopped short at the sight of the expression on Ferguson's face. "What?"

"Moss," Ferguson began. "The Covenant only managed to take the city after three weeks of nonstop fighting."

Moss stared at him blankly. "Come again?"

"Moss… you've been in a coma for over a month."

Moss let out a loud sigh and laid back into his bed as the door to his room finally shut with a mute _click_ , signaling the departure of his parents. His loved his mother but god dammit she did not understand personal boundaries. He supposed it was only to be expect; his mother always felt she was entitled to know certain things about her eldest son that most people wouldn't be and for the most part Moss agreed with her, but asking him how he was feeling emotionally and when he was planning on leaving the Army were two subjects Moss was not willing to answer, or even think about answering, a few hours after he had just woken up from a month long coma. Moss knew she meant well, but at the very least, he needed some time to process everything he'd been told.

Moss irritably ran a hand through his hair. The doctors had shaved off his Mohawk when they were conducting brain surgery on him, as it had been in the way, but in the month he'd been lying motionless in bed, his hair had started to grow back, covering his scalp with black fuzz like hair.

A month. He'd been in a coma for a month.

Honestly, it was a little hard to believe. Granted, he'd probably spent just as much, if not more time, in cryo, but for some reason this just felt different. He wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because he'd never been in cryo when there had been a battle going on. Specifically, one that he had been an active participant of. Or maybe it was the fact that when he entered cryo, he was being put in some sort of stasis state, so while he might spend weeks upon weeks in cryo, physically, he wasn't aging at all. Meanwhile, a month spent in a coma was a month taken away from his life he was never getting back.

Or maybe it was the fact that, when Moss was placed in a cryo chamber, he didn't expect to wake up and find out all his friends were dead.

Moss shuddered.

No. He wasn't thinking about that right now.

A month. He's spent an entire god damn month in a coma. During that time, millions, maybe even billions of people had been killed, the Covenant had managed to capture the city of Byzas despite humanities' best efforts, and then the UNSC had set off two nuclear bombs destroying the city and killing thousands of Covenant soldiers. All within the span of a single month.

What else had Moss missed while he'd been under?

Ferguson hadn't been able to give him that much more information. Soon after dropping his bombshell of an announcement, a nurse had entered the room to check up on Moss' vitals. And then just as soon as she had finished, his family had returned from the mess hall, igniting a sort of impromptu family reunion. At some point, Ferguson had slipped out, muttering something about being late for rehab, and taking Moss' greatest source of information with him, as talking about the war was the last thing his mother had wanted to do.

He did, however, manage to gleam one small piece of information from his siblings that caught his attention: his initial instinct to _not_ tell Ferguson of his whereabouts on Actium had been the correct one. From the sounds of it, _**no one**_ had _**any**_ idea what he, or his squad, had been up to during the first day of fighting in Byzas.

Moss sighed and rubbed his face before hauling himself back up to a sitting position on his bed. He still felt like shit and having to deal with family had been exhausting as hell, but the last thing he wanted to do right now was sleep. He wanted more information, and fortunately, he knew where to get them. Carefully reaching out, Moss grabbed the data pad that had been casually sitting on the table next to his bed.

It was his sister's. She had pulled it out to show him some pictures, and then carelessly left it sitting on the table. Moss wasn't sure if she had done that on purpose, as a sneaky way for Moss to find answers to the questions he had without disturbing their parents. But then again, given how absentminded she was even on the best of days, it's quite possible she left it there by accident. Whatever the case was, Moss was going to take advantage of it.

Turning the pad on, Moss went ahead and connected to Waypoint. The very first thing he did was look up the UNSC Army casualty report for the Actium Campaign and quickly began plugging in names.

Having lost contact with the rest of his platoon from the very moment they'd been deployed to the surface, Moss was curious to see how the rest of his unit had faired through all the fighting. Unfortunately, from the looks of it, the answer was simple: not very well. Both the squad leaders for 1st and 3rd Squads had been killed in action on the third and seventh days of fighting, respectively, and three of the four team leaders were also dead. At least two soldiers were reported as having died of wounds sustained on the fourteenth day of combat, one of them dying not even three days ago, while everyone else Moss could think of had been reported as either wounded in action or killed in action. Lieutenant Lancelot, Sergeant First Class Stalgis, and Doc Westley (his platoon commander, platoon sergeant, and platoon medic) had also all been reported as wounded in action, though unfortunately there was no way for Moss to determine exactly what that meant. The WIA status was given to anybody who had been hurt while fighting in an active combat zone, but unfortunately it didn't specify the severity of the injury. His commanding officer could have been suffering from a simple plasma burn to the arm, or be dying from a sucking chest wound, Moss just wouldn't be able to tell from the report.

Moss sighed and lowered the data pad, running his hands through his hair again. Well. This was a mistake. Moss now officially felt worse than he had ten minutes ago. For some reason, Moss had been operating under the assumption that it was only his squad that had been destroyed in the fighting. Obviously, that wasn't the case. Clearly the battle for Byzas had only gotten much worse after Moss had left.

Given how badly battered his platoon had ended up, Moss was a bit reluctant to find out how his company had faired. But, seeing as how he had already started down this path, he figured he might as well go all the way. It was like tearing off a bandage, Moss tried to reason with himself. The worst thing to do was stop halfway.

Nevertheless, Moss found it extremely hard to force himself to pick up the data pad again.

Before he could convince himself to continue though, he was interrupted by a knock on his door. Moss frowned as he glanced at the door, wondering who it could be. The nurses had granted his request to not be disturbed, telling him the hospital's dumb AI would be able to unobtrusively monitor his condition and visiting hours were over, which is why his family had to leave. So, who could be knocking on his door at this hour?

The answer came to Moss in a flash, and involuntarily, he felt a tremor of fear going down his spine. He briefly toyed with the idea of pretending he was asleep, or that he wasn't there, but then it occurred to him they were probably approaching him now because they knew he would be awake and alert enough to answer some questions. Pretending to be asleep would only delay the inevitable and plus, the last thing Moss wanted to do was piss off a representative of ONI.

So, it was with some reluctance, Moss gave them permission to enter.

It was pretty much what Moss expected. Standing in the open door frame was a single UNSC Army officer wearing his class 'B' service uniform. Much like how Volkov had been when Moss first met him, this man's uniform was completely devoid of any sort of identification, rank, unit, or branch insignia, and any sort of special skills badges or tabs.

Just behind the man, Moss could see two Army MPs outside in the hall taking up position on either side of the door. Making sure they wouldn't be disturbed? Worrisome, but Moss did take some comfort in the fact that both officers were clad in their fatigues instead of decked out in full battle rattle, and they were only carrying sidearms instead of assault rifles.

"Sergeant Moss Shen?" the man in the doorway asked.

Moss struggled to bring himself up to attention, or at least, as much attention as he could while lying down in a bed. Despite the lack of insignia, Moss was pretty sure this man was an officer.

"Yes sir," Moss confirmed a bit reluctantly.

"My name is Lieutenant Colonel Urban Holland," the man announced, confirming Moss' suspicions, although he was of a much higher rank than Moss was expecting. Moss watched as Holland shut the door behind him and walk into the room. "I'm with Special Warfare Group Three, and I'm here to debrief you about the events that occurred on May 6, 2545, during the Battle of Byzas."

" _Watch your back... he's from Special Warfare Group Three."_

 _PFT PFT._

Norén's warning about Volkov from a month ago, and the sound of Volkov's suppressed pistol going off as he executed the two militiamen for knowing something they shouldn't have, suddenly echoed through Moss' mind, and he felt a wave of cold fear wash over him. He couldn't help but be very much aware of how easy it would be right now for him to 'unexpectedly expire due to complications with his injuries,' and he wondered if 'debrief' was supposed to be a euphemism for something.

"Sergeant, there's no need to be nervous," Holland unexpectedly told him, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "This is just a simple debrief, that's all. You've done nothing wrong."

Somehow, that wasn't all that comforting to Moss. Like, how exactly did this guy even know he was nervous in the first place?

It then abruptly occurred to Moss that he was still hooked up to the EKG monitor, and it was registering a massive spike in his heart rate. Great.

"Relax Sergeant," Holland told him as Moss tried to bring his breathing under control. "If your heart rate keeps skyrocketing like that, the nurses are going to have those MPs out there forcefully remove me for disrupting your recovery and I would like to get this debriefing done sooner than later."

"Though, on second thought, perhaps you should," Holland added in a thoughtful voice. "I'm sure there are a number of enlisted soldiers in this building who would pay good money for the opportunity to be allowed to physically eject a Lieutenant Colonel from a hospital. Truth of the matter is, I know quite a few Lieutenant Colonels and Colonels, even a couple of Generals, who I could stand to see that happening to."

He chuckle and despite himself, Moss couldn't help but chortle in amusement with him.

"Could you imagine how it would look?" Holland continued. "How undignified they would be? They would be head over heels and squawking like parrots, I'm sure."

At that, Moss couldn't help but let out a genuine laugh at the mental image Holland's words conjured even though he didn't miss the small grin of triumph Holland his behind his arm. It kind of annoying, how easily disarmed Moss had allowed himself to be, but he had to admit, that was pretty good work on Holland's part as Moss felt himself involuntarily relaxing.

"May I sit?" Holland asked as Moss heard his heart rate beginning to level out.

"Sir," Moss said giving his permission, as if Holland really needed it. Still, he supposed it was nice of Holland to ask.

Holland grabbed one of the chairs and pulled it up. As soon as he sat down though, he instantly sobered up.

"Well Sergeant, before we begin, I'd like to start off with an apology," he said. "I've read the preliminary report our 'mutual Navy friend' provided and I know you've been through a lot. And I also realize that the last thing you want to do right now is talk about it. Unfortunately, I'm going to have to insist that you do. I don't know if Major Volkov had been able to empress upon you how essential your mission was to the war effort, but I need you to understand it absolutely was. And because of that, we need to know everything that occurred during that operation."

Moss understood everything Holland was telling him, he really did. And, honestly, nothing Holland just said really surprised him. At the same time, as soon as Moss opened his mouth to speak, he found he just couldn't get the words out. He knew it was duty as both a UNSC soldier and a non-commissioned officer to report back to his superiors exactly what had transpired so they could have the appropriated intel to plan future operations, but Moss just... couldn't. In some ways, it was like, by reporting what had happened, he would be acknowledging that... that his friends were dead. And that he had failed them.

"What about our 'mutual Navy friend' sir?" Moss couldn't help but ask, using the same coded phrase Holland had used earlier. He could only assume Holland was referring to the Spartan. "Didn't her report tell you everything you needed to know?"

Moss hated how desperate and whiny his voice sounded, and he knew he was only delaying the inevitable, but he had to try. Much to his disappointment though, Holland shook his head.

"Unfortunately, her report only detailed her team's activities just prior to their arrival on the colony's surface, and her actions just after her recovery by your unit. Of the status of her team and what ultimately became of them, she was only able to provide a cursory summary. We need to know the details. Details, which I'm sorry to say, only you can provide."

"Just try to stick to the facts Sergeant," Holland suggested. "Just the dry, clinical facts. You think you can do that Sergeant?"

Moss took a deep breath. "I suppose I don't really have a choice in this matter, do I sir?"

"No," Holland admitted. "You really don't."

"Then," Moss said, trying to keep his voice steady even as he tightly gripped his bedsheets. "I suppose we should get started sir."

Holland nodded before pulling out a small device. "This device here? The ONI boys like to refer to it as 'the cone of silence.' It generates a small field that will prevent anyone or anything out of the field from listening in on our conversation." He activated the device before pulling out another one. "This is a voice recorder. This conversation will be recorded for ONI records." He glanced over at Moss to see that he understood before asking, "Are you ready to begin Sergeant?"

Moss nodded and Holland activated the recorder.

"File 82-7-0-2. Date is 10 June 2545, time, 1645 Juliet(2). Official debrief of Sergeant Shen regarding the events of Operation White Knuckle(3) on 6 of May, 2545, during the Battle of Byzas, Actium Campaign."

Upon hearing the official name of the operation he'd been on, Moss' head had shot up. White Knuckle? That what the operation was called? How strangely apt. Moss wondered if someone had deliberately chosen that name or if it was just a coincidence.

"Interrogator is Lieutenant Colonel Urban Holland, Special Warfare Group Three. Sergeant," Holland called out, drawing Moss' attention. "For the record, please state your name, rank, and last assigned posting."

Moss cleared his throat. "Shen, Moss. Sergeant. Last assignment was to Alpha Company, 131st Engineer Battalion, 3rd Brigade Combat Team, 222nd Airborne Division, XXVII Airborne Corps, Ninth Airborne Army, Skopje Army Defense Command."

Holland coughed and with some embarrassment, Moss realized he probably didn't need to go that high up on the command structure. He nervously swallowed as Holland spoke up.

"Thank you Sergeant," he said, not bothering to comment on Moss' mistake. "Let's begin."

Moss nodded. "Where should I start sir?"

"Start when you were first assigned to Major Volkov's command."

Moss licked his lips. "Yes sir. Well, it was about one hour after my squad and I, that is, 2nd Squad of 1st Platoon under the command of 1st Lieutenant James Lancelot, had landed on the surface. We had just driven off a large Covenant force when...

Moss spent the next two hours telling Holland everything he remembered, from the time he first got assigned to Major Volkov's command, to the point where he blacked out on the Pelican ride to orbit. Holland didn't say much during those two hours. He just sat there taking notes. Occasionally, he would ask a question, or try to get some clarification on parts he didn't quite understand, but for the most part, he just let Moss speak, which was something Moss appreciated as he was having a hard enough time telling his story. He tried to do as he was instructed and just stick to the facts, but it wasn't easy. His memory was kind of hazy, so he couldn't necessarily describe events with as much clarity as he would have liked, while some things he did remember just didn't seem plausible. Like, did he really take out an entire Covenant Spec Ops patrol with a block of C-12, a microwave, and a single pistol mag? He felt like he might have seen that in a movie once but that didn't sound something he was capable of doing.

Furthermore, Moss has distinct memories of him having a conversation with his former squad leader, Staff Sergeant Tanner. But, that didn't make any sense either. Tanner had gone missing over the skies of Newsaka _months_ ago, _ages_ before they ever got deployed to Actium. How would Moss have been able to talk to a dead man? And yet, that's what he remembered doing. It just didn't make much sense.

Then, there were some things that Moss remembered with absolute clarity.

He remembered the frustration he felt after marching through the city for hours and fighting what felt like the entire Covenant Army, only to find out he was no closer to achieving his objective then was when he first started out. He remembered the absolute feeling of betrayal when he found he'd been lied to about what his squad was really searching for in the city. He remembered the feeling of awe at the sheer strength of the first intact, abet, dead, Spartan he ever encountered, followed by the feeling of sympathy when he realized some poor family was never getting the body of their very special son back (4). He remembered the feeling of confusion when he was confronted by the sight of an entirely new alien race completely unknown to him, followed by the sense of surprise when he realize just how far up the chain of command that new alien was in the Covenant hierarchy. That feeling in turn had given way to triumph when Moss realized that instead of scaring him like he had intended to, he actually managed to assassinate the alien, hopefully throwing the entire Covenant command structure out of whack.

But most of all, Moss remembered the feeling of terror, and horror, as one by one, his squad... his friends... his family... were taken from him, until he was the only one left. He remembered the regret and the _anger_ he had at himself for his failure to save them. And as he sat there, in that bed, _not_ telling Holland these things, he felt the shame for being the one to survive when no one else had.

Holland calmly turned off the recorder. For a few moments, there was nothing but silence as Holland scribbled down some last minute notes and Moss just sat there, awkwardly fiddling with the empty water cup in his hands. Finally, Holland spoke up.

"Thank you Sergeant," he said, sounding sincere. "I know that couldn't have been easy, so I want to reemphasis just how important it was. Because of this report, we now know _for certain_ that the mission objectives of Operation White Knuckle were achieved, and that the secrets behind the UNSC's greatest weapon were secured."

"So," Moss said after Holland trailed off. "What happens now sir?"

"Now? Now we pretend this entire event never happened. This conversation, Operation White Knuckle, and everything and anything related to either or are hereby classified as top secret, eyes only, as dictated by ONI Security Directive M-98." Holland stared at Moss straight in the eyes, and Moss could see how serious he was.

"As of right now Sergeant, you are **not** authorized to inform **anybody** about the events that transpired on Actium. You are **not** authorized to ever speak to **anybody** about Operation White Knuckle without written permission from the Director of the Office of Naval Intelligence. You are to never to mention the term 'Spartan' in relation to Naval Special Warfare Command, or Army Special Operations. You have never met Major Den Volkov, and you and your squad were never assigned to Special Warfare Group Three."

Moss was stunned, though he felt like he shouldn't have been. "What can I tell the families of my Troopers who died on Actium?"

"You can confirm you and your squad did fight during the Battle of Byzas on Actium, and that they died in defense of their people," Holland said rather generically. "Anything more specific than that, cite memory loss as a result of your injuries." He paused. "You understand what will happen if you fail to comply with any of the aforementioned perimeters?"

"You'll kill me sir?" Moss grimly suggested.

"No Sergeant. We'll throw you in a hole and forget about you." There was a rather hollow look in Holland's eyes as he said that, and Moss realized that despite his generally amicable personality, Holland's hands were just as bloody as everyone else's. "Do you understand Sergeant?"

Moss nervously swallowed. "Yes sir."

"Good. Sign here."

Pulling out a data pad, Holland thrusted it towards Moss.

"That's a non-disclosure agreement," Holland explained as Moss reluctantly picked up the pad. "It basically says the same thing I just told you, only in writing. Your signature is _only_ to acknowledge your reception of said document, and nothing more. Signed on the dotted line please."

Moss nodded in understanding, before quickly scanning through the document. Satisfied it was as Holland had said, Moss signed it and handed the pad back to him.

"Thank you. Now, that wraps up just about everything. Are there any questions you have for me Sergeant?"

"Yes sir. Sir, do you have any idea when I'll be able to return to my unit?" Moss looked up to see the questioning look on Holland's face. "The 222nd Airborne?"

"You weren't told," Holland simply noted.

Moss sighed. "No sir, I guess not."

Holland nodded.

"The 222nd was declared annihilated on Actium," Holland explained. "I think they suffered upwards of 93% or more casualties. High Command has already made the decision: the division will not be reconstituted. The 222nd Airborne Division has been disband and her colors inactivate."

Moss absorbed the information without comment. He felt numb. For almost two hundred and fifty years, the Jackalope insignia had been proudly wore into battle by the paratroopers of the 222nd Airborne Division. But now? The division was gone, it's soldiers dead, it's colors sheathed, and it's proud history relegated to nothing more than a footnote in the history books.

How much more bad news could Moss take?

"What will become of me?" Moss heard himself ask.

Moss could see Holland shrug ever so slightly. "I believe I've heard the remaining assets of the 222nd are to be combined with the remnants of the 53rd Armored Division and reflagged as the 127th Airborne Brigade," Holland informed. "You have, what, about three more years left on your contract?"

"Something like that, yes sir."

"Perhaps you'll be reassigned there?"

Moss shrugged without comment.

"Well, if that's all the questions you have for me," Holland said as he began to gather his things, but then paused. "Actually... I'm sorry, I just remembered. There is one last thing we need to go over Sergeant."

"What's that sir?"

Moss looked up, almost afraid of what Holland was about to ask next. He watched as Holland tapped a few buttons on his data pad, revealing a holographic list of names. Moss took a closer look, and he felt his heart freeze as he realize exactly whose names they were.

"This is a list of every single soldier who had accompanied you on the operation," Holland grimly informed him. "As of right now, all these men and women are considered missing in action, presumed dead. I need you to confirm to me whether or not they were killed in action so we can let their families know."

Out of nowhere, Moss felt a surge of white-hot anger towards him. Why the fuck was he asking him? Why the fuck didn't they check off all the dog tags he'd been carrying in his pocket when he got back? This motherfucker had already made Moss relive the worst operation in his short military career he ever had the misfortune of being on, now he wanted him list off every single soldier who had died on the way there?

However, just as Moss was about throw military decorum out of the window and let Holland know exactly what he was thinking, he suddenly remembered he had given that bag of tags to Pip, on the assumption she was going to be the one to make it, not him. When she'd been killed, the bag had stayed with her.

Quickly deflating, Moss took a deep breath and steeled himself. Then, he started to go over the list of all who had accompanied him, and all who had failed to return.

They had started off with seventeen infantrymen from Xanthus' shattered platoon. Soldiers who had already lived through the worst the Covenant had thrown at them on Newsaka, only to fall on Actium, fighting to accomplish an objective they knew nothing about. Men like Asfaw, Delgado, Tran, Sergeant Jackson, Ramirez, Doc Falco, Demirci, and of course, Sergeant Jacob Xanthus himself.

Along the way, they had picked up five more soldiers as reinforcements. Three of them had been cavalry scouts from 1st Brigade: Corporal Oshiro, Eggert, and Asoka.

Then there had been the two Provincial Militiamen. And while they had turned out to be amateur Separatist, they had still fought and died with the rest of the unit: Privates Chiotis and Dubois.

Leading the operation were of course, the officers: Captain Leopold Rabinowitz and Major Den Volkov.

Finally, there was his squad.

Moss stopped to catch his breath and as he did, he reached up to wipe the tears (tears? where did they come from?) away from his face before continuing.

"Private Job Griffin…"

 _(who was one of the most carefree soldiers Moss had ever met)_

"Specialist Cliff Roer…"

 _(who just wanted to make sure his family was safe)_

"Specialist Lisbeth Norén…"

 _(who just needed a friend)_

And…

"Corporal Piper Meghan Poblede…"

 _(who just wanted to live)_

"allkilled in action."

Moss trailed off as he recited the last name.

"Thank you," Holland somberly said before climbing to his feet. As he headed for the door, Moss realized he had one last question to ask him. "Sir? I realize you probably aren't allowed to tell me, but I want to ask anyway. You people (it took all of Moss' effort to keep the bitterness out of his voice when he said that,) have been telling me that what we were doing was essential for the survival of the entire human race. What I'd like to know is: is there any truth to that? My troopers, the ones who gave everything for this operation to succeed...did they make a difference? Was it worth it? Their sacrifice?"

Moss saw Holland hesitate with his hand on the doorknob, before he slowly turned around to face him.

"Sergeant," he began. "The ramifications of your squad's actions has caused a ripple effect across the entire galaxy, and will affect events to come in ways we will never be able to truly appreciate."

He trailed off and Moss felt his face crumple at the non-answer. Holland shook his head.

"Get some rest Sergeant," he commanded. "You've got a long road to recovery ahead of you, and if humanity is to survive, we're going to need soldiers like you."

He gave Moss a respectful nod, then walked out of the room, gently shutting the door behind him. Moss watched him go before letting out a sigh, and then slowly laid down in his bed. Physically and emotionally drained, it didn't take long for him to slip away.

Dreaming of better times.

 **6 Months Ago  
Fort Glaznov, Skopje**

'So. Day three at his first assigned military unit. And wasn't it exciting?' Private Moss Shen sarcastically thought to himself as he sat there in the corner of the mess hall, slowly chewing his food. Sitting there alone, mind you. Because why would things have been any different.

Moss mentally sighed. Throughout most of his life, he never really had too many friends. He'd be the first to admit, a large part of that problem was the result of his personality: he was a rather shy and somewhat withdrawn person, not one to really initiate conversation or really open up to anybody. As a result, he had a general tendency to slip through the cracks and avoid attracting any sort of attention, positive or negative.

Now, admittedly, that skill had proven to be highly useful in OSUT(5) and Jump School, as Moss had managed to make it through both courses without ever attracting the ire of his drill sergeants or the Black Hats. However, Moss was beginning to realize the social dynamics in the real world was completely different from that in the school environment.

For starters, keeping your head down was the complete opposite thing to do in a frontline Airborne division such as this one. In a combat unit, Moss was beginning to find, more value was placed on those individuals who were stronger, faster, and more confident than everyone else. In hindsight, it made perfect sense, as those were the attributes a soldier need to win a fight, however none of those words were ones that Moss would ever seriously use to describe himself. As a result, Moss had spent most of his last three days, alone, just watching and listening, wondering to himself if he hadn't made one gigantic mistake joining the Army.

It was at this point Moss had to stop and snort in amusement at himself. At this point in his life, Moss had already made it through the fourteen weeks of combat engineer OSUT on Mare Erythraeum, which in turn had immediately been followed by five weeks(6) of Airborne School at the same location, for a total of nineteen weeks of non-stop training. Nineteen weeks of non-stop physically and mentally demanding training, all the while, struggling to learn how to deal with being away from his family for the first in his life, as well as being off-world since, well... ever. Moss had managed to survive all that and yet, this, this right here, this was what made him start to wonder if he truly belonged? That he had made a mistake in volunteering to join the Army? That he was an idiot for choosing to go with a combat arms MOS instead of a support position like his parents had insisted he do? This was what made him start to doubt himself? His lack of friends?

Moss groaned and vigorously rubbed his face. God, he needed to stop being so fucking melodramatic. He needed to start remembering he wasn't some dorky high school theater technician anymore, he was a soldier. A paratrooper. And most of all, he needed to stop being such a pussy and get over himself. His job now was to make sure he was sufficiently trained enough to be able to bring the fight to the Covenant. Friends? They could come later.

 _Thud_.

Moss jumped as a plastic tray was dropped onto the table in front of him, snapping him out of his internal dialogue. He glanced up to see -

Whoa… she was kind of hot.

Moss quickly studied the young woman (soldier, he corrected himself, they were all soldiers now,) standing in front of him. She was about his height, extremely fit looking, with long raven hair that was showing all the signs of recently growing back after the buzz cut everyone had received when they first entered basic training. She had to have been part of that group of new recruits the division had gotten that morning as Moss had never seen her before. And he definitely wouldn't have missed _her_.

"God damn, this fucking place is a madhouse. Fuck!" she swore out loud before glancing at Moss. "Yo. Anyone sitting here?"

Moss quickly shook his head, not wanting to say anything least he accidently make a fool out of himself.

"Thanks," she grunted, popping herself down in the seat directly across from Moss. She looked at the plate sitting in front of her with a look of disgust on her face and quickly shoved it away before gesturing at the mess hall around them. "Fuck. Is it always this fucking loud around here?"

Moss shrugged. He hadn't really noticed, but now that she had mentioned it, it _really_ was loud. Hardly surprising, really. After all, it was filled with a bunch of young, testosterone filled soldiers, all jostling and fighting with each other to become the next top dog

"Fucking dumbasses," the woman muttered to herself before turning back to Moss. "Hey. I'm Private Piper Poblede. Just arrived to this outfit the morning. You?"

Moss quickly swallowed whatever food was in his mouth. "Private Moss Shen," he informed her, extending his hand for a shake. "Got here three days ago.

To Moss' surprise, Poblede didn't take his hand and instead, she began snickering.

"What?" Moss asked, puzzled.

"Your name is Moss?" Poblede asked.

"Yeah?"

"You're named after a type of fungus(7)?" Poblede asked with a sneer. "What, were your parents fucking drunk when they named you or did they just decide to hate you?" She starting laughing at Moss.

Anger immediately began surging through his veins and maybe it was because he was in such an irritable mood, but that anger immediately overrode his generally passive nature.

"You're one to talk," Moss snapped back.

Poblede immediately stopped laughing, a dangerous glint appearing in her eyes

"What's that supposed to mean?" she aggressively demanded and it was normally at this point Moss would tried to smooth things out, but fuck that shit, he was not in the mood.

"You said your name was Piper Poblede, right?"

"So what?"

"So... your name is Pee Pee?" Moss pointed out with a raised eyebrow.

For a moment, Poblede looked like she was going to hit him, and Moss began to frantically recall all the self-defense moves he had learned during his Army Combatives course in OSUT. But instead of attacking him, Poblede did something completely unexpected: she burst out laughing. And it wasn't the sneering, derisive laugh she had earlier. No, this one was a full-on laugh of genuine humor.

His anger quickly faded, leaving Moss staring at her in bemusement.

"Okay dude, fair enough," Poblede said, as soon as she brought herself under control. "So, you're Fungus and I'm Pee Pee. Not exactly the duo you'd expect to be able to take on the entire Covenant Army but fuck it."

Before Moss could fully catch up to the sudden turn of events, Poblede abruptly stood and started to walk away. But before she had even gone more than a couple of steps, she glanced at Moss was a puzzled look on her face.

"Well?" she said, somewhat impatiently. "Let's go dude."

Moss couldn't prevent the next question from tumbling out of his mouth. "Go where?" he squeaked, and then mentally winced. Fortunately, Poblede didn't seem to notice.

"To go look for some food that actually looks like food," she said, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. She wrinkled her nose at the plate sitting abandoned on the table in front of her. "I don't understand how you can be eating this shit."

She walked away, leaving Moss scratching his head over what the hell had just happened. Did he... did he just make a friend?

Moss suddenly realized Poblede was walking away and he hastily scrambled to his feet to chase after. As he did, he couldn't prevent the goofy grin that spread across his face. Maybe he was feeling lonely or something, but suddenly, Moss had a good feeling about this.

This was going to be the start of something great.

* * *

1\. Lieutenant Den Brotheridge was a British paratrooper who served with 2nd Oxfordshire and Buckinghamshire Light Infantry, 6th Airlanding Brigade of the British Army's 6th Airborne Division during the Invasion of Normandy (D-Day) on June 6, 1944. Lieutenant Brotheridge is generally recognized to be the first Allied soldier to have been killed in action on D-Day. (74 years ago on the date this chapter was uploaded. No, I didn't plan that.)

2\. This has shown up before, but I don't think I've ever explained it. In military time, a "J" or "Juliet" after the time just means local time, as opposed to "Z" or "Zulu," which stands for the Coordinated Universal Time

3\. Believe it or not, this is a randomly generated name. All I did was look up "military operation name generator" on google, let it run, and this was the first result.

4\. Before anyone gets confused, Moss is operating under the assumption that Spartans are nothing more than Special Forces Operators who volunteered to be "enhanced" in some way. Obviously, he doesn't know the true origins of the Spartans: that all the Spartans were child soldiers, and that most of them don't have any families to speak of (outside of the other Spartans, of course.)

5\. One Station Unit Training. Again, another subject that has shown up before but never really explained. Basically, in the US Army there are two ways of training a soldier. The first way is the more "traditional" way in where a recruit will go to one of the four Basic Combat Training Camps (BCT, aka Boot Camp) around the country to learn how to be a soldier. Once (if) they graduate, they will get sent elsewhere to attend their Advance Individual Training (AIT) to learn how to do their jobs (i.e. if you're a quartermaster, you go to the quartermaster school, if you're a helicopter mechanic, you go to the helicopter maintenance school, etc.)

OSUT is different in that it combines both BCT and AIT into one course. A recruit will spend however long (in this case, combat engineering OSUT, which is fourteen weeks) at one location, surrounded by the same recruits they started off with who are all training for the same job, being taught by the same drill sergeants they began with. Reportedly, it's done to streamline the training process, as well as help build camaraderie between recruits. Jobs in the US Army that have OSUT programs include: infantry, cavalry scouts, tank crewmen, military police, and of course combat engineers.

6\. United States Army Airborne School is only three weeks long however this far in the future, I feel like paratroopers would be doing more than just static line jumps. Maybe HALO jumping, using wing suits, and/or jet packs? I can't really decide but either way, I think the school would be just a bit longer and more intense than it is now.

7\. Moss (the plant, not the character) is actually a type of flowerless plant, not a type of fungi. I'll be honest, I didn't know that until I looked it up for this story so… I guess it's entirely plausible Poblede didn't know that either.

General Notes:

\- Lieutenant Colonel Urban Holland is supposed to be the same character as the one in Halo: Reach (i.e., Noble Team's commanding officer.) In the game, he's a full bird Colonel, but seeing as how this story takes place seven years before the game does, I figured it's entirely possible he hasn't gotten promoted yet. We don't really get to know him very well in the game because his entire role is to act as mission control, but I always got the impression that he was a fairly decent officer, professional, yet one that cares deeply for his men.

For example, as soon as he loses contact with the troops he sends to Visegrad Relay, he immediately sends in Noble Team over the protests of his supervising officers at ONI to go investigate. Then, later in the game we see Noble Team figuring out a way to the take out the Covenant supercarrier sitting in orbit over Reach. We don't see Holland's response to their request, but if you look at the time stamps for the level, Noble Team is on the move less than half a day later, which indicates to me that Holland had immediately agreed to the plan and immediately gone to coordinate with the rest of the UNSC military branches, specifically the Navy and Air Force, to make sure Noble Team received exactly what they needed. To me, that says a lot about the trust Holland has in his men.

(One could argue that it was one of those "desperate times call for desperate measures," and that because it was a Spartan team make that request, people would be more inclined to trust them. There's probably some truth to that. That being said, I think it's still an impressive feat logistically to somehow be able to gather all the pieces need to destroy an entire Covenant supercarrier in less than a day.)

(I also want to point out, in reality, Holland is probably too high of a rank to be personally debriefing Moss like he was. More than likely, a more junior officer, like a lieutenant or a captain, would have gone instead. However, I wanted to use a canon character and unfortunately, there haven't been a whole lot of soldiers that have been introduced in the games or books.)

\- The ending flashback may have been a little unnecessary, but I thought it would be interesting to end the story (at least Moss' part of this story) with where Moss and Pip's adventure began. I also thought it would be a subtle way to show how fighting in the war how changed both characters. The way I always pictured it in my mind was: Moss was one of those kids who grew up in a well-to-family, living a comfortable and sheltered life, who upon reaching adulthood, was suddenly inspired to join the military and see the world (or galaxy, in this case.) As a result, he's always a little hesitant, a little bit unsure of himself, and very much aware he hasn't gone through the same hardships his teammates have and he's always pushing himself to make sure he doesn't let them down.

Pip, on the other hand, was always intended to be one of those Alpha female, queen bee type of person. She's confident, almost to the point of arrogance, and while she doesn't know the full extent of her abilities, because of the hardships she had to overcome growing up (death of her parents, loss of her homeworld to the Covenant,) she knows enough of what she's capable of to believe she'll be able to conquer any situation that gets thrown her way. Unlike Moss who, because of his hesitant nature is always making sure he doesn't offend anyone, Pip is one of those people who divides the world into two categories: she either likes you, or hates you. If she likes you, she'll be one of the sweetest, nicest, and most loyal person you ever met. If she hates you though, she'll make sure you know and remind you every day of that fact (obviously, Moss would fall into the former category.)

So, those were their personalities before they joined the military. At the start of this story, I tried to imagine them and then depict them as they would be after two months of warfare. If I ever wrote a story about the Newsaka Campaign, it would have been about how the fighting would have forced them to change who they are. Moss, for example, would have learned that he wasn't a coward, he'd just never been tested and now that he had, he was a lot stronger person than he ever could have predicted. Pip, on the other hand, would have realized she can't fight the entire galaxy on her own, and her character arch would have been about her learning to tamper her ego. Obviously it's not a complete change, so I tried to depict them showing shades of their former characteristics throughout the entire story. Whether I was successfully or not, I'll live it to you guys to decide :)

So, like I said, that's the end of Moss' part of this story. We'll let him rest, he's earned it. There's going to be an epilogue that should, in theory (if I write it properly) detail some of the ramifications of Moss and Co actions. See you next time!


	18. Epilogue

Thanks everyone for all the reviews, especially Broman who left a ton of them in the last few weeks. I want to quickly answer some of the questions he brought up.

1) Do Brutes use human weapons?  
I think in one of the Halo books, it mentions that Brutes do, and will collect human weapons as trophies.

2) Why doesn't the Colonial Government spend more time training their militia forces?  
The way I view it, Colonial Militia is like the US National Guard, with Provincial Militia being the State Militias. Provincial Militia would be funded by the colonial government of the colony they're located on, so their training and equipment will be dependent on how much money the colony is willing to spend on them. Meanwhile, while Colonial Militia should be held to the same standard as the UNSC military, however shifting priorities, high casualties, and lack of funding means they get shafted on a number of things. Plus, all the militiamen depicted in this story are rear echelon support troops; fighting the enemy _**isn't**_ in their job description.

3) How did Griffin get into the Army?  
He's an orphan, a child of the system, so he was automatically drafted when he reached adulthood. In that chapter, Pip was referring to the circumstances surrounding Griffin's conscription, of which I might write a little one shot for so I'll leave it at that.

4) Couldn't the IFV be remotely controlled by an AI?  
Nope. The traverse was damaged, forcing them to switch over to manual. Someone had to physically be there to rotate the turret.

5) Moss could have saved Norén.  
Not really a question, but something I wanted to address. When I wrote this scene, what I had in mind was that the bullet wasn't a straight in and out but rather, the bullet entered her mid back area, hit one of her ribs which caused it to start tumbling through her abdomen area, tearing through some of her major organs, before exiting through the front. I think even if Moss had gotten the biofoam open, Norén was pretty much a goner and she knew it, which is why she told him to stop. Now, Moss wouldn't have known any of that, so yes, you are correct in that that event will probably haunt him for the rest of his life. That, and the fact that he was the one who shot her…

6) In real life, the Elites would have slaughtered them in CQC  
Yeah, I agree. Maybe the Spartan could have stood a chance, but the size and weight different between Elites and humans are just too great. But, the Elites were attempting to capture all of them alive without causing too much damage, while Moss and the others were under no such restrictions, which is why they stood a chance. With a bit of luck, capturing one of those energy intact (I think in canon, Bungie has stated the sword's self-destruct has to be manually prepped, which is why you can steal it sometimes, and other times you can't,) Moss was able to win.

* * *

 **Epilogue**

 **Headquarters, UNSC Army Special Operations Command  
Quezon Province, Reach  
June 15, 2545  
1207**

"Sir? He's ready to see you."

Holland just barely managed to prevent himself from flinching as the military secretary suddenly appeared at his side. He must have been more tired than he thought because he did not notice or even hear her approach until she spoke up.

"Thank you Lieutenant, that will be all," he told her as soon as he had regained his composure.

"Sir," she said with a respectful nod, and watched as Holland gathered his things and headed down the hall. Holland could feel her eyes boring into the back of his head as he walked away, and he knew it wouldn't be until he rounded the corner before she relinquished the grip she had on the butt of the sub-compact pistol she had concealed on the inside of her waistband.

Holland let out a mental sigh. He hated coming here. With the Innies on one hand and the Covenant on the other, security was always very tight at these installations, and with the sheer amount of casualties the UNSC had been taking in the last two decades, there was no shortage of disabled, but highly experienced, combat soldiers ready to defend them. He understood the need for the security, he truly did, but this amount of security always created an atmosphere of fear and suspicion. Not only was having to confirm his identity at every single checkpoint highly obnoxious, but everyone he met looked on him with thinly veiled suspicion. As an officer tied to the Army's special activities, Holland knew all about keeping secrets. However, he always tried to maintain a fairly decent rapport with the soldiers under his command because ultimately, when the proverbial shit hit the fan, they were the ones he was going to depend on to survive. Around here? That just wasn't possible.

Of course, if Holland was being completely honest with himself, it wasn't the security issues that was bothering him.

As soon as Holland had received word that the sole survivor of Operation White Knuckle, besides Sierra-062 of course, was about to regain conscious and thus, would be available for questioning, Holland had started preparations to send one of his subordinates to debrief the man. To his surprise, he was ordered by his superiors to debrief the good Sergeant himself, in person. Highly unusual because even as a Lieutenant Colonel, he was far too busy to be running around personally debriefing every single soldier associated with his unit's operations. However, given the sensitivity of the operation in question, he had supposed it made _some_ sense that a senior member of the command staff be the one to handle the matter. Plus, orders were orders so like the good soldier he was, Holland had taken the next available military flight to Skopje. One, two hour meeting later, Holland had all the answers he needed. Once he complied all the information he had acquired into a short report, he had immediately sent it up the chain of command and then done his best to forget the about the meeting, figuring that would have been the end of it.

Only it hadn't.

Less than an hour after his report had been transmitted, he had received new orders, commanding him to return to Reach to brief his superiors _in person_. And it had been at that point Holland began to suspect he knew what this was _really_ about: someone was jerking his chain. Trying to waste his time. Possibly out of revenge, but revenge for what? Well, there was only one thing Holland could think of: Alluvion. The Phoenix Program. Of course. Because, what else could it have been?

At this point in his life, Holland had been in the Army for about twenty years (it was always hard to keep track of dates with cryo sleep and the different rotations of the various colonies he'd been deployed to) and his career service vitae was excellent save for one black spot: Alluvion. Alluvion and the Phoenix Program hung around his neck like an albatross. No matter what he did or where he went, there always seemed to be some staff officer who had taken offense to what they had done there. Which was somewhat ironic considering Holland had been the _only_ officer to raise objections to the program and ultimately, been the one to blow the whistle on it.

Don't get him wrong, his objections to the program hadn't been out of moral concerns, but strategic. Like it or not, insurgencies were won or lost not through military action, but by whoever could win the propaganda war, and it had been hard enough dealing with the stories of UNSC excess manufactured by the civilian media without having uniformed soldiers providing them with hard evidence of said excess(1). That being said, Holland had _not_ been the one to leak the program to the media. Who did that, no one knew for certain, but as the most vocal opponent to the program, Holland had ended up being the lead suspect.

The end result left Holland in a bit of an odd situation: the various protest he had left on record had prevented High Command from bring the hammer down too hard on his head, saving his reputation, his career and potentially his life, as he'd been called away from Alluvion just prior to the Covenant invasion to testify to military investigators. However, those same registered protests had ended up making him a bit of a pariah among his peers because if there was one thing the special operations community was unified in, it was their hatred of leaks. His rank protected him from most forms of misguided retaliation, but that couldn't prevent his command from finding other ways to express their displeasure with him. Like, say, making him run around halfway around the galaxy conducting interviews that really should have been handled by more junior officers.

Holland shook his head. There really wasn't much he could do about the situation except bear it, and wait it out. He had time on his side because if this little test program they were running with ONI turned out to be a success, then as one of the only Army officers who had any experience dealing with Spartans, his commanders were going to need his expertise.

Holland came to an abrupt stop outside the door of the office he needed to report to. Barely acknowledging the two MPs standing guard outside as they snapped to attention at the sight of him, Holland lifted his hand and smartly rapped on the door.

"Enter," came a voice from within.

Walking into the room, Holland could feel the hairs on his arms stand on end as he walked through the privacy field protecting the office from eavesdroppers. He made sure the door was secured behind him before snapping to attention.

"Sir, Lieutenant Colonel Urban Holland, reporting as ordered sir," he said, smartly snapping off a salute to the only other person in the room.

The identity of that person hardly came as a surprise to Holland. While Colonel James Ackerson wasn't his commanding officer, as the Army's liaison to the Office of Naval Intelligence, all matters related to the Spartan programs were to be conveyed through him. That was the reason why he was here. As to the reason why he was the _only_ one here, well, that was because Ackerson was a self-inflated, power hungry, pompous, egotistical, micromanager, who reveled in the fact that as only a mere _Colonel_ , he somehow had more access to classified information than most five star _generals_ had, a fact he constantly lorded over his subordinates.

Needless to say, Holland was _not_ a member of the Ackerson fan club.

As if to prove Holland's point, rather than immediately acknowledge his salute, Ackerson instead held up a single finger, forcing Holland to maintain his salute as he waited for Ackerson to finish whatever it was he typing into his computer. It was a classic power move, forcing a subordinate to wait, frozen, in a posture of respect, just to show who was in charge. If anybody else had done this to Holland, he would have been pissed. But because it was _Ackerson_ who did it, it was just sad. Pathetic even. Another sign of how insecure the man was in himself, constantly needing to show everyone he was in charge.

So Holland just stood there, as still as a statue, unwilling to give Ackerson the satisfaction of seeing him falter.

Eventually Ackerson got tired of the game and returned the salute, allowing Holland to finally drop his arm.

"At ease Colonel. Well?" Ackerson said without preamble. That, Holland could at least appreciate: Ackerson never cared much for small talk, always going straight to the point.

"I conducted my debrief with Sergeant Shen as ordered sir," Holland began, "and he confirmed what we had already suspected: the bodies and armor of both Alpha zero one niner and Bravo one seven zero had been secured. The Covenant were _not_ able to capture an intact Spartan."

"Yes, your report said as much," Ackerson said airily, gesturing towards his work station, and Holland was tempted to roll his eyes. If Ackerson already knew that, then what were they both doing here?

But he resisted the urge and instead, stood there, doing his best impression of a Spartan, patiently waiting for Ackerson to say something that actually warranted a response.

Rather than say anything, Ackerson made a big show of accessing a report and reading through it. The system was designed so only the one who accessed it could read what it said, but Holland could guess as to what the report was: it was the debrief of Operation White Knuckle.

"What's your take on this entire situation?" Ackerson abruptly asked, catching Holland by surprise. He nearly lifted an eyebrow in shock but managed to catch himself in time. Ackerson asking for his opinion? That was rare.

Holland took a moment to consider the request, and more specifically, the reason for the request. The thing about Ackerson, he was very much a politician. To be fair, he had to be in order to get to where he was now, but that just meant he rarely did anything unless it benefited him in some way. So, if he was asking Holland for his opinion on a military matter, the question had to be asked: for what purpose?

There were a number of possibilities, but there wasn't any way for Holland to be sure, so he settled for as neutral an answer as possible.

"The performance of the paratroopers went about as well as we could have expected given the circumstances," Holland answered. "Aside from that, there really wasn't much about Sergeant Shen's report that appeared to be outside of the norm. Although, his account about the new alien race, the... how does he word it? 'The snake-like alien,'" Holland quoted from memory. "The account of his encounter with that creature is both intriguing and worrisome, and raises quite a few questions, such as: is there an entire race of aliens that are a part of the Covenant that we don't know about, or is this individual just that, an individual? The last member of a dying breed or a highly modified member of one of the known species? If there are more of them, and the individual is not a mutation, why is this the first time we're encountering them? Is this a sign of things to come? And if there is an entire Covenant race we don't know about, could there be more?"

"Interesting. Well, we do know this 'minister' is not the only member of his race," Ackerson noted.

"Sir?" Holland carefully asked.

"Sergeant Shen's account matches that of several other accounts we've had in the past," Ackerson casually revealed. "The details vary, however, the basic description of the creature remains the same. As does their role in the Covenant hierarchy. Though, I must admit, this is the first I've ever heard of one having been killed in the field. It's a pity Sergeant Shen wasn't able to recovery the body, or at least a part of the body, but I digress. Whatever the case may be, based on these accounts and existing intelligence we were able to obtain but were never able to interpret due to a lack of context, ONI now believes that this new race may in fact be the political and religious leaders of the entire Covenant Empire. In fact, ONI has already assigned this race a reporting name based on that role: 'Prophets.'"

Holland's mind was reeling, both because of the information Ackerson had just revealed to him and the fact that he was revealing it so freely. Holland chose to focus on the former.

"We've been searching for signs of the Covenant leadership since the war began," Holland said, thinking out loud. "If this intelligence is correct... this could change the course of the war entirely!"

"ONI agrees. Which is why there are several plans that take advantage of this information in the works already, including one that heavily involves the Spartan-IIs."

That last bit was said with a palpable sound of disgust. Ackerson never did bother hiding his dislike of the Spartans.

"But none of that information pertains to you," Ackerson continued, causing Holland to mentally snort. If that was the case, why even bother bringing it up? "What is your post analysis of Operation White Knuckle?"

Holland considered his next words carefully, mainly because he still hadn't figured out what Ackerson's motive for these questions. The best he could think of was that Ackerson was looking for a good idea to take credit for, and Holland briefly toyed with the idea of staying silent. But in the end, he decided it would probably be better for the UNSC as a whole for Holland to think of a good idea and have Ackerson take the credit, rather than Ackerson think up of a terrible idea and get people killed. His mind made up, Holland finally spoke.

"The operation was just a few steps shy of a complete disaster," he stated rather bluntly. "The mission objectives _were_ accomplished, there's no denying that, but unfortunately it would appear that was due more to Covenant incompetence rather than any sort of effective strategy on our part. The operation was haphazardly planned, reconnaissance was lacking, and the wrong unit was allocated; it's a bit much to expect a depleted platoon of conventional soldiers to conduct a 'smash and grab' operation behind enemy lines, an operation they've never been trained nor equipped for, without the proper fire and logistical support they're accustomed to. And the results show. Two S-IIIs killed in action, their bodies unrecoverable; one of our S-II trainers crippled, potentially for life; Major Den Volkov, one of the only Army combat officers with hands-on experience with Spartans, killed in action; and an entire platoon of combat experienced parachute infantrymen and sappers almost completely wiped out."

Holland paused to catch his breath before concluding with, "We should have never given Volkov authorization to lead a team in to recover the Sierras. We should have done what the Navy suggested and cut our losses."

"But by allowing Volkov his team, we were able to recover zero six two. Which was the entire point of this operation," Ackerson noted, giving Holland pause. When exactly had Holland slipped into an alternative dimension, one where Ackerson was even remotely concerned about the lives of the S-IIs under his command?

"What _is_ the status of Sierra zero six two?" Holland carefully probed, trying to see just how different this alternative Ackerson was. "What did the doctors conclude?"

"Major structural damage to the lower vertebral column and extensive injury to the nervous system. All the result of Argon Team's fall from high orbit. Further exasperated by the amount of movement that occurred during extraction. Topped off by the Pelican crash upon delivery. Bottom line? Damage is repairable, but it will take _years_ to fix. In the meantime, the Sierra is completely _useless_ for frontline combat. But, the Sierra will still be useful as a test subject for new weapons and armor. Maybe even let the ODSTs use her for target practice, give them a target that will actually emulate the movement of an Elite properly."

"Don't worry Urban," Ackerson commented, perhaps misunderstanding the expression that had appeared on Holland's face. "With the amount of money the UNSC spent on trying to build her and the rest of her kind, you can be sure we will get every cent worth of use out of her."

Holland hid a disproving glare. Now _that_ sounded more like the Ackerson he knew. Still, Ackerson's comment had raised some questions. If the entire point of Op White Knuckle was to recover the Sierras instead of securing them as had been stated, then...

"You have a question," Ackerson announced, interrupting Holland's thoughts. "What is it?"

Ackerson giving away information for free and allowing himself to be questioned? This was turning out to be a very unusual day. Holland wasn't entirely convinced he _wasn't_ in some sort of alternate dimension, but hell, he'd take it.

"If recovery was our goal, then why send the paratroopers in? The Air Force had an entire squadron of Pararescue operatives stationed just to the north of the city. We could have easily requisitioned a section from them. Why did we expend the lives of the paratroopers on a mission they had no business conducting?" Holland bluntly asked.

Ackerson leaned back in his chair and studied Holland's face.

"You do know what the goal of this test program we're currently conducting with the Navy is, do you not Urban?" he suddenly asked.

Ignoring the use of his first name, which again was just another classic power move from Ackerson, Holland instead focused on the question on hand. "Yes. For the Army to have their own Spartan team, to utilize as they see fit."

"And to accomplish that goal, we needed to prove to High Command that the Army was capable of managing a Spartan team. After all, these are very expensive assets, not to be thrown away lightly," Ackerson pointed out. "As part of that demonstration, we needed to prove that, in the inevitable event something went wrong, the **Army** would be able to recover or secure any lost Spartans. Therefore, it _had_ to be an **Army** unit that was sent in. It _had_ to be an **Army** unit that secured the bodies of the Sierras. And it _had_ to be an **Army** unit that ultimately recovered the S-II. Using any other branches' forces would demonstrated the Army's _inability_ to conduct Spartan operations."

"So essentially what you're saying sir, is these men and women died as a result of _politics_?" Holland couldn't help but point out.

"All soldiers die as a result of politics," Ackerson indifferently affirmed. "Every single soldier that has existed since the time of the Ancient Greeks to today has died because of politics. As Clausewitz once noted, 'War is the continuation of politics by other means.'"

Holland found there really wasn't much he could say to dispute that. But then he suddenly took note of something else Ackerson had said. "Wait. 'Needed to prove' sir? As in, we no longer have to?"

Holland trailed off as a smile, an actual, genuine smile, appeared on Ackerson's face. Holland didn't even realize Ackerson was capable of such a gesture, having figured all of Ackerson's facial expressions consisted solely of sneers and condescending smirks.

"This operation was the turning point Colonel. High Command gave their approval three days ago: the Army will now officially have their own Spartan team, and be allowed to conduct their own Spartan operations."

Out of sheer habit, Holland did his best to mask his expression but internally, he was thrilled. Ever since Blue Team, on loan from the Navy, had singlehandedly destroyed the ADF garrison on Hill 117 on Alluvion back in 2538 in a single night, thus demonstrating the capability and potential of the Spartan program, Holland and a coalition of other special operations officers had been pushing Army Command to form their own Spartan teams dedicated to supporting Army operations. The Navy had mostly stymied that effort, but now it appeared High Command was finally stepping in to overrule them.

However, Holland did have one question.

"Who's going to command the unit sir? I thought the original plan called for Volkov to be promoted to Colonel and take command, as he was the _only one_ with experience with the Spartan program, having been the one to direct them on Hill 117," Holland asked. "With Volkov KIA, who's his replacement?"

"You know he wasn't the only Army officer who had experience with the program."

Holland racked his brains for other names but came up short. "Who else do we have that meets the criteria to lead?"

"You. Congratulations, _Colonel_ ," Ackerson tapped a few buttons on his work station, and Holland became aware of the fact that his rank insignia had been changed from the silver oak leaf of a Lieutenant Colonel, to that of a silver eagle of a full Colonel. "Welcome to full-bird status."

This time, Holland didn't even bother hiding his shock. "Me sir? But I've spent my entire military career in military intelligence. I have no combat experience."

"Command has decided combat experience will not be necessary. In your new role, you will supervise and administer all current and future Army Spartan teams. You will not be entering the field," Ackerson explained.

"Then who will lead the Spartans into combat?"

"Another Sierra of your choosing. This last op has demonstrated to command that a non-augmented human simply cannot keep up with the Spartans."

Holland noted with some amusement, Ackerson had failed to note he had been the one pushing to have Spartan teams led by regular humans, and that _Holland_ had been the one advocating that Spartans be led by Spartans. But he was too excited to point that out.

"In that case sir, I'd like to nominate Petty Officer First Class A-259 as my field commander. He comes highly recommended: he has received top marks and high praise from Sierra zero six two, Sierra zero five two, Commander Ambrose and Chief Mendez for his leadership ability and command potential."

Ackerson waved his hand in dismissal. "We'll discuss those details later, as well as the composition of your team, of which you be allowed your pick from the companies."

"Including the hyper-lethal from Beta Company?" Holland quickly asked.

Ackerson's head snapped up. "No. I... High Command has other plans for that one," he said smoothly.

Holland noticed Ackerson's slip, but decided not to comment. He was exhilarated. His own command. Ever since he had graduated from Sandhurst, he had been working towards that goal, but after the Phoenix Program fiasco, he had resigned himself to never achieving it. But now it was becoming reality.

Before Holland could say anything else though Ackerson glanced at the door. "Enter!"

Holland fell silent as the same Lieutenant from the lobby poked her head into the room.

"I'm sorry to disturb you sirs," she began, "however, Colonel Ackerson? You wanted me to let you know when the Covenant vessels began moving into position over Actium. Well sir, they have. We believe it's about to begin."

All of Holland's euphoria disappeared in an instant. About a week ago, the Covenant had finally cut off the Navy's last flight corridor to the surface of Actium, officially leaving the colony in the hands of the Covenant. After the Navy had abandoned the system, the Covenant had spent the rest of the week reorganizing their forces before they too withdrew from the surface. Now, there was only one thing left for them to do.

Holland followed Ackerson as he walked down the hall, into a large command center. There, on the main screen, was a live video feed. The image was grainy, probably because it was being broadcasted from one of the few spy probes left in the Ambracian System capable of transmitting that far, but Holland could still see the image well enough. Actium, in all her glory, sat in a sea of darkness. No longer was she the magenta marble she had been a month ago, she was now a floating ball of gray due to all the dust and ash the two Havoc nukes had thrown into the air when they had detonated. As the video zoomed in, Holland could see hundreds, maybe thousands of Covenant ships sitting in high orbit around the planet, their purple hulls standing in contrast to the planet below them. Even as he watched, about ninety percent of them abruptly jumped into Slipspace, disappearing to parts unknown, leaving a handful of Covenant ships. Spreading put around the planet, their bows began to glow with energy before suddenly, an almost blinding purple beam lanced out and struck the planet. Maintaining the beam, the ships began flying in a systematic pattern around the entire planet. With the amount of ships that Holland could see, he estimated it would take the Covenant about a week, but by the time they were done, the only thing left on Actium would be glass.

The final Covenant extermination had begun.

"This attack was one of the most brutal we've seen since the start of the war," Holland observed to Ackerson as Actium began to glow as the Covenant energy beams cut through the planet's crust, exposing the mantle below. "Could this be a sign of things to come?"

"Could be," was Ackerson's reply. "Which is why we need this team up and running as soon as possible. What are you planning on calling it by the way?"

That gave Holland pause as he hadn't really thought about it.

His first instinct was to call it Argon Team, after the Spartans who had been killed during the operation. But then he remembered they weren't the only ones to have died during the operation. He thought of all the paratroopers who had paid the ultimate price while partaking in an operation they never should have been assigned to. He thought of their families, the ones who, due to security concerns, would never be able to understand what their loved ones died for and what their deaths had ultimately managed to accomplish. He thought of Sergeant Shen, the young man who was never going to be the same, forever changed psychologically by the experience he'd been through. He thought about the story he heard a week ago about how the operation had gone down, how they had started off strong but then began suffering set back after set back. The frustration and the anger and the fear. Yet, despite all this, the paratroopers had still continued forward, struggling to accomplish an objective they knew very little about, only that it was essential to the war effort. Essential for the protection of humanity. All people. Their people. Because in the end, that was all they really needed to know.

Suddenly, Holland knew what he was going to call it.

"I think I'm going to go with..."

"Noble Team."

 **XXXXX**

Author's Note: In my original notes, this was where I intended to end the story. However, when I was about halfway through, I thought it would be fun to try and depict how the events in this story would affect the course of the Covenant Empire. So here we are. This next part takes place on May 7th, **a day after Moss left the planet.**

 **XXXXX**

 **High Charity  
** **Somewhere in Covenant Space  
** **One Month Earlier**

The Prophet of Truth sat in silence as the Zealot finished his report. It was a low ranking Zealot, so low ranking, Truth had not even bothered to remember his name. Yet, somehow, despite his low rank, he had ended up becoming responsible for one of the worst disasters the Covenant had faced since they began their crusade against the Humans.

"So," Truth began, silencing everyone else in the room. "In conclusion, Commander, not only did you fail to capture **any** of the Demons you were tasked with recovery, you also failed to capture the human who murdered our dear Minister. Our Minister, of whom **we,** entrusted **you,** with protecting. Would you agree, Commander, that this is an accurate synopsis?"

Truth could tell the Zealot was nervous. It was clear by the way of how stiffly he held himself, and by the fact he had yet to raise his head since he began his report. Nevertheless, Truth knew the Zealot would never dare to admit to that fact.

"Yes, your Hierarch," the Zealot said, bowing his head lower. "It is as you say. I have failed you."

"Yes, you did," Truth muttered to himself. More loudly he said, "We are very disappointed."

"Yes, your Hierarch," the Zealot repeated. "There is no excuse for my failures. I can only prostrate myself in front of the Hierarchy and beg for an opportunity to redeem myself for this transgression."

"And what would you have us do?" Mercy asked, speaking up for the first time.

"Please, allow me to continue my campaign against the humans and I will make sure their pathetic world burns in your name," the Zealot swore.

If it weren't for the fact that it was beneath him, Truth would have snorted. The Sangheili were all the same; ask them what they would do to regain their honor and they all suggest the same thing. Was it too much to ask that at least one of them have an original idea? Still, their single mindedness towards all things warfare had its uses. It had been, after all, the most effective way of keeping their entire miserable race in line after all these generations.

The Zealot had fallen silent and was now nervously awaiting Truth's response. Truth probably could have given him an answer right then and there and relieved his apprehension, however he was too irate to be that generous right now. He felt like simply ending the transmission, however appearances had to be met. So, adopting an expression of cold tranquility, Truth stared straight at the Zealot and loftily said, "The Hierarchy has heard your plea, and will now consider your fate."

Only then did he end the transmission.

After confirming the transmission had, in fact, ended, and they were alone and away from any observers, Truth allowed himself to relax. Leaning back in his seat, he waited. He didn't have to wait long. As expected, Regret was the first to break the silence.

"That fool!" Regret bellowed. "That impertinent fool! Who does he presume to be, defying our will in such a perfunctory manner? He should be executed for that insult alone. No! His family should be executed and _he_ made to observe! _Then_ he should be executed!

"Unfortunately brother, an execution is not option we can afford to exercise," Mercy warned and Truth was forced to acknowledge the veracity of his words. Unlike a few decades ago, they could no longer afford to execute a Zealot at a mere whim. Though the Hierarchs would never admit it out loud, the war against the humans was beginning to take its toll, and even Zealots were becoming in short supply. That was something even Regret had to acknowledge.

For a moment, Regret faltered, but then quickly rallied again. "Well, _something_ must be done to address this transgression! We are the Noble Hierarchs! Our word is law! The Sangheili cannot be allowed to fail in such a manner without repercussion! Someone must pay for the Minister of Contentment's death!"

"Contentment? Bah! It is better he was killed this way," Mercy countered. "It certainly saves us the predicament of having to do so. That fool was attempting to organize a coalition among the High Council against us. A coup! Against us? As if that child could have taken our place! But more insultingly, he thought he was subtle in his efforts! That we were too old and feeble to notice his insolence! He should have known better for we are the Hierarchs: nothing escapes our sight!"

"But the death of a San'Shyuum to the humans is without precedent!"

"But the failure of the Sangheili to protect him is not," Truth suddenly declared, immediately drawing Regret and Mercy's attention.

"What do you mean brother?" Mercy asked as Truth sat up in his chair, bringing himself up to his full height.

"Brothers, in the last few cycles, I have taken note of a dangerous tread: our once trusted servants have become increasingly… negligent, in the duties we have tasked them," Truth announced, staring at each of his brothers so they could discern the gravity of his words.

"I have not observed such a tread," Regret immediately announced, though Truth was hardly surprised. Regret had always been the least observant of them all. Mercy, on the other hand…

Through his sharp eyes, Truth could recognize the look of comprehension as it spread across Mercy's face.

"Our Brother speaks the truth," Mercy declared. "Though I had not truly comprehend what I had witnessed until this moment, when Brother Truth spoke his words, I too, have observed among my forces, an increased measure of failures in the commissions I have charged the Sangheili with completing."

Now a troubled looked appeared on Regret's face. "If Mercy has observed this tread, then it must be true," he declared. "But what is the cause?"

"The failures of the Sangheili can only be attributed but to one reason," Truth declared. "The Sangheili… are beginning to doubt."

A grim silence followed Truth's ill tidings. For over a millennium, the Sangheili's faith in the Great Journey had been unwavering. For them to falter now was almost unthinkable. But there was no denying the evidence that laid bare before their very own eyes.

"But this event was not unforeseen by our ancestors," Mercy abruptly pointed out. "Which is why, through the blessings of the Forerunners, we were able to discover the wretched Jiralhanae. Why they were allowed to join this Holy Covenant. To help balance the scales of power."

"Yes," Truth said simply. "But I fear their presence alone is no longer enough."

"What must we do brother, to address this growing hearsay?" Regret asked.

"For now? Nothing." Truth held up his hand to forestall any arguments. "To act now while we wage our Crusade against the humans would rend our Covenant apart. The Sangheili simply hold too much influence over the lesser race in both the High Council and the military for us to act overtly."

"But we cannot just sit here and do nothing!" Regret insisted.

"Nor have I suggested we do," Truth said curtly, causing Regret to recoil ever so slightly at the admonishment. "We must begin taking steps to ensure the survival of our Hierarchy in the event the Sangheili commit the unthinkable. I have already begun placating the Jiralhanae chieftain Tartarus; you both must do the same. Begin testing the Jiralhanae among your forces; find out who among them are the most faithful. Once we have our loyal servants, then, and only then, will we strike."

Truth glanced at both of his brothers. Both looked suitable satisfied.

"It shall be as you command Brother," Regret declared.

Truth nodded and settled back down in his seat. But before he could begin to relax, Mercy suddenly spoke.

"Brother, what of Shipmaster Iam 'Oteree(2)?" he enquired. "What shall we have him do?"

"Shipmaster Iam...? Oh, yes. Him," Truth commented, having already forgotten about the fool who had necessitated this communion in the first place.

Bringing his fingers together, Truth considered his options. Although Mercy was correct in asserting that Contentment's death was not a tragedy as they had alleged, but more of a fortuitous turn of events, Regret had also been correct: they could not allow a single member of the Covenant to fail in such a brazen matter. After all, appearances must be met.

But aside from executing the fool, or branding him a heretic, what sort of punishment would be sufficient enough to express their extreme displeasure?

A solution came to Truth in a flash, and he realized he could accomplish a multitude of his goals in one fell swoop.

"Perhaps now would be the time test the loyalty of our Jiralhanae," Truth mused out loud before turning his focus on his brothers. "We will grant the fool his request. However, he must be brought low so that all the lesser races many begin see the Sangheili are no longer in our favor. And in doing so, we shall see who among the rabble are truly faithful."

Before his brothers could enquire as to his plan, Truth activated the transmitter. The image of the Zealot quickly appeared and although little time had passed since they spoke, the Zealot had become quite apprehensive, to the point Truth could almost smell the fear roiling off the fool through the transmitter.

Masking his sneer of disgust, Truth adopted his mask of cool indifference.

"Shipmaster Iam 'Oteree," he loftily began and the Zealot immediately straightened. "The Hierarchy has heard your plea and have adopted a resolution: we will grant you this boon. You will continue your campaign against the humans. And you _will_ exterminate every single heathen in retribution for the most holy life they have dared to take."

"For every drop of the Holy Eminence's blood they have spilled, I will ensure the humans pay it back a thousand fold with their lives!" the Zealot promised, bellowing in relief and excitement. "Hierarchs, I humbly thank -"

Truth raised a single finger, and the Zealot abruptly cut himself off mid-sentence.

"But," Truth continued as if the Zealot had not spoken. "The campaign will not continue under your command."

Truth could see the Zealot deflate, and the sight filled him with a sense of merciless joy.

"I... Noble Hierarch," the Zealot stammered, "your words are as merciful as they are wise, however, your humble servant cannot comprehend them. Please, I beseech you to share your wisdom so that I may learn how to best serve the Hierarchy."

Truth mentally grinned to himself before driving the metaphorical knife in.

"This... fiasco, was the rest of your arrogance," Truth declared, even though he had no idea if there was even a modicum of truth to that statement. "You must learn humility. To that, you must learn to obey the commands of another."

The Zealot was stunned, that much was clear, however there were very few options for him and he knew it.

"It shall be as you command, Noble Hierarch," the Zealot finally said. "I shall inform my second in command of -"

"No."

The Zealot jerked back in surprise. "Your Holiness?"

"No," Truth repeated as he prepared to drive the knife in further. "You are not capable of learning humility from another Sangheili. But perhaps a _Jiralhanae_..."

Truth trailed off and watched with amusement as a wide range of emotions instantly flashed across the Zealot's face. Shock, horror, outrage, and then finally, the one emotion Truth had desired to see, humiliation.

"Noble Hierarchs," he began, "that..."

"The Hierarchy has spoken, and it shall be so!" Regret abruptly snapped, and Truth hid a smile. His brothers, flawed as they were, at the very least knew when to keep silent and when to interject.

"Do you dare disobey a direct commandment from the Hierarchy?" Mercy accused.

Confronted with the united leaders of the entire Covenant Empire, the Zealot had no choice but to obey.

"It shall be as you command," he resignedly said.

Truth nodded and then, just to twist the knife, in a thoughtful voice, as if he was merely contemplating out loud, he said, "Perhaps the Jiralhanae will be able to accomplish what the Sangheili have not: capture one of the Demons."

Truth had just enough time to see the look of outrage appear on the Zealot's face before terminating the transmission.

"Masterfully played brother," Regret immediately compliment. "Now, not only will the entire Covenant know the price of failure, but by granting the fool his chance for redemption _exactly_ the way he had requested, the Sangheili high councilors will have no reason to be suspicious."

"Furthermore, the appointment of a Jiralhanae commander to lead the crusade will cause the lesser races to wonder which race is now in our favor," Mercy pointed out.

"And if the Gods are merciful, then the humans will grant the fool the 'glorious' death he wishes to achieve, thus save us from any more of his idiocy," Truth concluded, taking a moment to bask in his own genius before turning to more pressing matters. Turning to his brothers, Truth commanded, "Brothers: find a suitable Jiralhanae commander. Inquire as to the forces he requires to seize that world, then grant him triple the amount. If our strategy is to succeed, then he must _not_ be allowed to fail."

Both Regret and Mercy bowed their heads before their holograms disappeared, leaving Truth alone, his mind full of stratagems and schemes. Events were slowly turning in his favor.

As it should be.

For he was Truth, the voice of the Covenant, the most powerful being in the galaxy. And soon, _everyone_ would know it.

Alone in his throne room, Truth finally allowed a smile to grace his face.

* * *

1\. This is a slightly modified quote from the "Noble Team performance reports." In the that report, Holland is actually talking about S-239 (Emile aka Noble Four) but I replaced it with "uniformed soldiers" to better fit this story.

2\. Originally, I wasn't going to name the Zealot, but then it felt a little awkward. Couldn't find a canon Elite name that seemed suitable, so… I named the Elite after myself. After all, just like the Zealot, I'm responsible for this giant steaming mess of a story /s

Author's Notes:

I wasn't originally going to have the Phoenix Program play such a large role in the story, mainly because I don't like my ideas affecting the Halo Universe in such a big way, but I realized I wrote myself into a corner by trying to have as many references to canon. I realized with as much emphasis as I put on Alluvion, the Phoenix Program, and Third Special Warfare Group, it wasn't possible for Holland to not make some reference to it. So I just decided to go with it. I tried to think of how Holland, as I portrayed him in chapter 16, would react to something like that and decided that while Holland is a decent man, ultimately as a military officer, his main concern is winning the war. So, while he might not be as ruthless as Ackerson, he's not exactly a saint either.

And speaking of Ackerson, there isn't really any hard evidence (that I could find) that suggest Holland and Ackerson know each other in canon, but it only seems logical to me. We know Holland is in charge of a Spartan team while Ackerson developed the S-III program, so I feel at the very least, they would have known each other. I just decided to expand that relationship a bit more. The way I tried to portray their relationship is that both men respect each other for their accomplishments, but either of them really like each other personally, which in Ackerson's case, is accurate as no one seems to like him in canon.

One thing I didn't really like having to do with Ackerson was make him Mr. Exposition. He seems like a very tight-lipped person in canon, as befitting a man in his position, but I needed someone who could explain what it was I had in mind, and why exactly this story mattered. The in-universe explanation for the reason why he was sharing so much with Holland was because he was briefing Holland on his new role, just in the most roundabout way possible. I also like to point out that it's probably not realistic, having Ackerson promote Holland directly and bypassing Holland's commanding officer entirely. A lot of that had to do with the fact I just didn't want to introduce a brand new character so late in the story, especially one that wouldn't play any importance in the future. But, and I hope you will agree with me, Ackerson's actions do seem to fit his personality and his position and as liaison to ONI, he would have a lot of influence over who the next commander of the Spartan team would be. As to why Ackerson wasn't the one to be in charge, aside from the fact he isn't in canon, I was going to include a scene where Holland asked that very question, whereupon Ackerson would have implied he had more authority as liaison than he would as unit commander, but I just couldn't figure a way to make it fit.

The hyper-lethal is, of course, Noble Six the playable character in Halo: Reach. I don't really know if it's true Ackerson had Noble Six under his direct command prior to the events depicted in the game, but in the Noble Team Performance Reports written by Holland, he states a certain someone was using Noble Six as his personal grim reaper. The name is redacted, but I always felt it was heavily implied that it was Ackerson who was doing that.

Like I said in my notes for chapter 9, I don't know if this is accurate or not, but for reason I remember the reading somewhere stating the UNSC were not aware of Prophets until very late in the war, which is why Operation Red Flag was conceived (as depicted in the novel, Halo: Fall of Reach.) I don't remember where or why I think that, but I just went with it. Maybe someone will correct me if I'm wrong.

Going back to Holland, in my head canon, I don't see him as ever having been a field commander, more of a rear echelon type of guy his entire career, which caused a bit of an issue for me because I don't think an officer with no combat experience could ever command a special forces unit in real life. I tried to justify it by stating Holland was one of the few Army officers with experience with Spartans, and by keeping in mind that five star general Dwight D. Eisenhower, of WW2 fame and later, the 34th US President, never saw combat either yet was out in charge of the entire European Theater. His situation was a bit different from Holland's in that his job required far more management than combat, but I hope it helps justify my depiction a bit more.

I realize the reasoning behind the naming of Noble Team is incredibly lame. I didn't originally plan to explain the origin of the name at all. In my head, they were just called Noble because all the test teams had been named after the noble gases (hence the name, Argon Team,) but as I wrote this chapter, I realized that wasn't very dramatic so I tried to change it, but I couldn't think of anything good and I ran out of time so I just went with what I had. If anyone has any suggestions to improve it, I'm all ears.

I hope you guys enjoyed my depiction of the Covenant Hierarchy. Like I said, their addition to the epilogue was sort of a last minute thing, so they might not be as well depicted as some of the other characters. And just to clarify in case anyone was confused, I'm not saying Moss was responsible for the Great Schism; I think, like all conflicts, that's been brewing for a long time, probably since before the humans and the Covenant came into conflict. But, just like the war, Moss' actions helped accelerate the timeline, and definitely planted a seed in Truth's mind.

 **Final Notes**

So. That's pretty much it for the story content of Missing in Action. At a little over 208k words of story content alone (not including footnotes and author comments,) this is the longest story I've ever written, and the only multi-chapter I've ever finished. I'm planning on posting some other stuff, mainly the character bios I wrote for myself just before beginning the story and some other, what I'm calling, "supplementary material," and maybe a couple one-shots that relate to this story but won't be able to stand on their own, but this story is pretty much over.

So, what's next? Well, I'm not entirely sure. When I first started writing the first draft for this story, I had plans on making this a series of stories, generically titled: "The Adventures of Moss Shen." This was supposed to be the first. Following this was supposed to be a six chapter story simply entitled "Recovery," which would had dealt with Moss' struggle with PSTD and his attempts to move on. That in turn would have been followed by a one-shot following his last days as a frontline combat soldier (which I ended up writing first because it was easier; _Last Man Standing_.) After that, the next story would have included Moss, but it wouldn't have been from his perspective (it would have heavily involved Pip's sister,) and instead of dealing with the Covenant, it would have had more of a focus on the Insurgency. After that, there might have been a one-shot dealing with the Battle of Fumirole (as depicted in the live action short, _Deliver Hope,_ ) which would have been followed by basically a re-telling of the entire plot of _Halo: Reach,_ only from the perspective of Moss. There might have been a follow-up story about the Battle of Mars (when Earth was attacked in _Halo: 3_ , Mars was also attacked,) but at the time I hadn't made up my mind.

Now, I don't want to say all of that **isn't** going to happen, but given how much time and effort it took to write this story, I'm going to say that it's **probably not** going to happen. It doesn't necessarily mean I'm going to stop writing and posting stories, I just don't know if I will stick solely to Halo stories. I do have some ideas for a companion story to this one dealing with the Battle of Actium, but I also have some outlines for other fictions lying around that I might end up actually writing. Who knows, I haven't made up my mind, but whatever I do end up doing, I hope you guys will be back.

Thanks to everyone who left a review, a follow, or just a view. If you enjoyed this story, please feel free to leave a review. If you didn't, feel free to a review anyway, though I only ask you tell me _what_ you didn't like so that I can try to fix it.

Until next time,

Bye.


	19. Bios and Misc Information

As I mentioned in the ending notes for the epilogue, this chapter does not contain story content, but is story related. Basically, this is a small compilation of notes and other technical stuff I jotted down before I began writing this story in order to help myself keep track of events and dates; think of this chapter as the extra material you would find on a DVD, or the appendix found in the back of a non-fictional book.

The big thing is character bios for the members of 2nd Squad; one of my goals of this story was to try and make everyone feel like an actual person, and the only way I could think of doing that was to write out a character biography so I could visually see who these people are, how their personalities were shaped by their environment growing up, as well as give me an idea as to how they would react to the events that are taking place around them. For the most part, these bios are unchanged from when I first wrote them, with the only major changes being dates and names of locations (all of which I have since updated.) A couple of them are a bit longer than the others, mostly because I was feeling inspired when I wrote them.

Anyways, the reason why I'm posting this is because I thought some of you might be interested, there is some information here regarding the story that I just couldn't figure out how to incorporate into the story itself, and simply because why not?

Hope you enjoy.

* * *

 **Character Biographies**

 **Moss Shen**

Shen was born on January 22, 2526 in the United Republic of North America on Earth. His father was a construction engineer and his mother was a housewife. He has two siblings, an older sister and a younger brother. A self-described "nerd," Shen spent much of his childhood in the theater, first as an actor in elementary school and then later as a theater technician with his high school theater troupe.

In 2544, at the age of eighteen, while hearing a new report about the loss of the Miridem colony to the Covenant, Shen was unexpectedly struck by the desire to "do his part" in defending humanity against the Covenant. Over the vehement protest of his mother, Shen decided to enlist in the Army. Choosing to enlist as a 12B (combat engineer,) he also volunteered for the Airborne Army in order to guarantee his participation in the fight against the Covenant. He was sent to Fort Schwarzkopf on Mare Erythraeum, Mars where he attended One Station Unit Training and Army Airborne School consecutively. Upon graduating, he was assigned to Alpha Company, 131st Engineer Battalion, 3rd Brigade Combat Team of the 222nd Airborne Division stationed out of Fort Glazunov on Skopje.

In early February of 2545, the entire 222nd Airborne Division was deployed to Newsaka as part of the UNSC effort to recapture the colony from the Covenant. Making landfall on February 15th, Shen first saw action two days later on February 17th while taking part of Operation Mossflower. As part of the opening stages of the operation, the 222nd was airdropped into Covenant controlled territory. During the airdrop, Shen's squad leader went missing in action. Upon landing, Shen's fireteam leader immediately assumed control over the remainder of the squad and appointed Shen as his replacement. Despite his inexperience, Shen was nevertheless able to lead his fireteam in defending the drop zone against a Covenant counterattack. Because of this, two weeks later, after his team leader had been formally promoted to squad leader, Shen would be chosen as his replacement. On the 7th of March, Shen was promoted to the rank of Corporal.

As team leader, Shen continued to participate in Operation Mossflower, which eventually resulted in the Battle of Seven Pines. As part of a last ditch effort to break through UNSC lines, the Covenant would launch a massive counterattack on the UNSC fortified town of Seven Pines on March 30th. Despite being caught by surprise, Shen and the rest of his unit were nevertheless able to hold their positions and Covenant attack eventually fizzed out. The Battle of Seven Pines would officially mark the end of Operation Mossflower.

After two days of rest, the 222nd was redeployed to participate in Operation Long Patrol, a series of rapid offensive actions designed to divide the remaining Covenant garrison into small concentrated pockets, which could then be destroyed through the liberal use of artillery and air support. Progress was slow, as the operation was launched in the middle of Newsaka's rainy season. Despite their limited numbers, Covenant resistance was stiff, however by April 18th, most of Operation Long Patrol's objectives had been accomplished. The operation would cumulate in the Battle of Hill 937 on April 20, 2545.

During the battle, as Shen and his sapper squad advanced towards Covenant defensive positions, they were ambushed by a Covenant counterattack. In the ensuing UNSC counterattack, Shen's squad would be inadvertently hit by a short UNSC mortar shell. The strike severely wounded Shen's squad leader as well as kill the other fireteam leader. Finding himself as the only non-commissioned officer remaining, Shen inherited command of the remains of his squad. Rallying his troops, he assisted in the breeching of the Covenant defensive line and personally planted the changes that destroyed the Type-38 "Tyrant" Anti-Aircraft cannon stationed at the top of the hill. For his actions, Shen was awarded the Bronze Star with "V" device.

After the Battle of Hill 937, the 222nd was scheduled to return to Skopje for rest and refit. However, on May 6th, while en route to Skopje, the colony of Actium was invaded. As the closest unit to the planet, the 222nd was immediately rerouted to aid in the colony's defense. En route to the colony, Shen was promoted to the rank of "Sergeant" and formally made squad leader.

Riding down to the colony's surface with his platoon leader to participate in what would later become known as the Battle of Byzas, Shen's Pelican was disabled by an EMP and crash landed into the city. Despite suffering no injuries to himself, Shen and his squad were immediately thrown on the defensive. Finding a way to link up with local defenders, Shen assisted in holding back the Covenant attackers until he was relieved by the newly arrived 9th Marine Expeditionary Force.

Upon being relieved, Shen and his squad were temporary reassigned to the UNSC Army Special Warfare Group Three to take part in Operation White Knuckle, the rescue of a Spartan team trapped behind enemy lines. During the operation, Shen participated in the destruction of much of the Byzas subway system, as well as the destruction of the Byzas Space Museum. He was also a participant of Operation Dunkirk, the recapturing of Benson Yard to allow the evacuation of several hundred civilians.

After several hours of combat behind enemy lines, Shen eventually reached the suspect crash site of the Spartan team. However, before any Spartans could be located, Shen and his unit were ambushed by Covenant Special Operational Forces. In the opening volley, Shen's position took a direct hit from a fuel rod cannon. The blast killed one of Shen's men and rendered him unconscious.

Shen did not regain consciousness until several hours later, at which point he discovered the remainder of his unit had been captured by the Covenant. While attempting to locate his men, Shen would inadvertently stumble across the corpse of one of the missing Spartans. Through the use of an improvised explosive device, Shen was able to destroy the Spartan's body, fulfilling one of the Operation's objectives.

After the objective was accomplished, Shen was able to discover the location where his men were being held prisoner. Mounting a daring one-man rescue, Shen was able to rescue the majority of his squad, however one of his men disappeared during the attempt.

Despite their depleted manpower and the loss of the operation's commanding officer, Shen and his squad were eventually able to figure out where the remaining Spartan was, although one of his squad members was accidently killed by friendly fire while attempting to recover the surviving Spartan.

Attempting to extract with the Spartan in tow by recovering the very Pelican that had brought, they were pursued by Covenant forces. Realizing they would be overtaken, the ranking NCO of the operation volunteered to stay behind to try and buy some time for Shen, the surviving members of his squad, and the Spartan to make their escape.

Reaching the Pelican, Shen was able to extract the vehicle from where it had crashed, though the last remaining member of his squad was killed in action during the effort.

Attempting to pilot the Pelican back to UNSC forces in orbit, Shen fell unconscious due to his injuries. With the loss of the pilot, the Pelican soon crash landed into the hanger of the UNSC Navy frigate, _Arras._ While Shen was recovered by navy medical personnel, he soon slipped into a coma.

Shen would not regain consciousness until June 10, five days before Actium was glassed by the Covenant.

Aftermath of Operation White Knuckle

Due to the classified nature of the Spartans at the time, Operation White Knuckle was classified as top secret, eyes only as dictated by ONI Security Directive M-98.

In 2547, the Spartan-II Program was declassified and revealed to the public. However, because two Spartans had been killed in action, as per ONI Directive 930, the files on Operation White Knuckle were not among those released to the public. It wouldn't be until 2558 that Operation White Knuckle would be officially declassified, and the operation's participants be truly honored for their sacrifice. All participating members had originally been awarded medals for their role in the operation, but after the files were made public, Army command conducted a review of the operation to determine if any should be upgraded.

During the review, it was discovered that due to a computer glitch, despite being the only survivor, then Sergeant Shen had actually never been awarded any medals for his role in the recovery of the Spartan. A campaign was started by a non-profit organization to rectify that mistake, however the campaign immediately suffered a major setback when it turned out Chief Warrant Officer 3 Moss Shen, (by then a veteran of the Newsaka, Actium, Skopje, Paris IV, Fumirole, Reach, and Mars campaigns) was absolutely uninterested in acquiring those medals. The campaign was about to end when it received support from an unexpected person: Maria-062, the very Spartan who had been rescued during the operation and now a trainer for the Spartan branch. With her support, on May 6, 2559, exactly fourteen years after the events of Operation White Knuckle, Chief Warrant Officer 3 Moss Shen was awarded the Army's Distinguished Service Cross, the Army's second highest military award.

(Trivia: When I was writing this story out, I wasn't sure if "Moss" would make sense as a name. So I changed it a couple of times. At one point, he was going to be called "Job Shen," then later "Joshua Shen," but then I decided I actually did like the name "Moss" so I kept it.)

 **XXXXX**

 **Piper Meghan Poblede**

Poblede was born on December 21, 2525 in the Plentiful Providence of Arcadia. She was the only child of Mateo Poblede, a reporter, and Sasha Mischa, a nurse. As a young child, Poblede's parents had high hopes of their daughter becoming a performer, signing her up for ballet classes when she turned three.

Events would cause otherwise. In February of 2531, Arcadia was invaded by the Covenant. During the evacuation, Poblede's transport was attacked by Covenant Banshees. Due to being overloaded, there were not enough escape pods for everyone on board. Choosing their daughter's life over their own, they placed her on the last spot available in one of the last remaining escape boats. Poblede's parents were killed when their crippled evacuation transport disintegrated upon reentry through Arcadia's atmosphere.

Poblede and the remaining refugees were original transported to Actium, before being settled on the UNSC colony of Mamore, in the Novo Janeiro Province. In the refugee camp, Poblede was discovered by her mother's best friend, Noriko Akagi. Upon learning of her newly orphaned status, Poblede was immediately adopted by Akagi, her husband, Shuya Ishii, and their two year old daughter, Naomi Ichii.

Due to the trauma of having lost her entire family, Poblede ended up turning out to be a rather aggressive child. In attempt to teach her how to control her anger, her adopted parents signed her up several sports, including aikido and soccer. Later, in her middle school years and under the gentle encouragement of her adopted father, Poblede became very interested in 3 Gun competitions, eventually becoming quite skilled in the handling of military-styled rifles, pistols, and shotguns, which would prove quite useful to her in her later years. Poblede's interest in 3 Gun competitions would continue through high school, where in her senior year, she would rank among the top 100 shooters in on her colony.

Starting in her freshmen year of high school, Poblede would become romantically involved with Ajax Svarog, a recently arrived refugee from the colony of Kholo. Bonding over their shared trauma of having lost not only their original homeworld, but also their parents, both Poblede Svarog made plans to enlist in the UNSC armed forces together, with Poblede expressing in interesting in joining either the Air Force or the Navy, hoping to become a pilot. However, upon discovering her grades weren't good enough for her to attend a military academy, Poblede opted to become a paratrooper in the UNSC Army instead. She chose to enlist as a 12B (combat engineer) in order to "learn how to blow stuff up." While in basic, she managed to earn the "Expert" level Marksman badges for the MA37 assault rifle and the M392 designated marksman rifle. Upon graduating, Poblede was assigned to the 131st Combat Engineer Battalion, 3rd Brigade Combat Team, 222nd Airborne Division stationed out of Fort Glazunov on Skopje.

In February of 2545, the entire division was deployed to Newsaka. Just prior to deploying, Poblede married her longtime boyfriend, Ajax Svarog

Poblede would first see action against the Covenant on February 17th as part of Operation Mossflower. During the airdrop into Covenant occupied territory, her squad leader would go missing in action. Despite the confusion that resulted from such a loss, Poblede was able to help her squad fight off a localized Covenant counterattack. For her actions, Poblede was promoted to Private First Class and made assistant team leader. She was also a participant of the Battle of Seven Pines, however a day after the battle ended, she was evacuated when it was discovered she was suffering from a bad case of tropical immersion foot.

Rejoining her squad a few days after the start of Operation Long Patrol, she was able to participate in the Battle of Hill 937 where she was able to assist in the breaching of Covenant defensive positions and aided in the destruction of the Type-38 "Tyrant" Anti-aircraft cannon stationed there.

Slated to return to Skopje for rest and refit, the 222nd was diverted to Actium instead when the Covenant began their invasion of that colony. En route to Actium, Poblede was promoted to Corporal and assigned team leader.

While rising down to Actium to participate in the Battle of Byzas, Poblede's Pelican was disabled by an EMP and crashed. Lucky, she was able to avoid suffering any injuries and was thus able to assist her squad in holding back the Covenant advance long enough for reinforcements to arrive, personally destroying several Covenant armored vehicles.

After being relieved, Poblede was temporarily assigned to the Army's Special Warfare Group Three and assisted in Operation White Knuckle, the rescue of a Spartan team that had crash landed behind enemy lines. During the course of the operation, Poblede was captured by the Covenant. She was quickly rescued, but not before she was tortured, with her right hand being amputated by her Covenant captors.

Despite her injury, Poblede was nevertheless able to assist in the recovery of the Spartan survivor. During the evacuation, Poblede defended their Pelican as her squad leader attempted to free it from debris. Wounded and on her own, Poblede was able to hold back several dozen Covenant soldiers, long enough for the Pelican to be freed. As she retreated back to the Pelican however, she was shot in the back of the head by a Covenant sniper. She was stuck in the medulla oblongata at the base of her skull and instantly killed. Her body was not able to be recovered.

Aftermath

For her actions during Operation White Knuckle, Poblede was posthumously promoted to the rank of "Sergeant" and awarded by the UNSC the following: the Silver Star, the Purple Heart, as well as the UNSC Prisoner of War Medallion, making her one of the few humans to have ever been held prisoner by the Covenant.

In 2558, after the files of Operation White Knuckle were made public, UNSC Army command conducted a review and decided that Poblede's defensive of their extraction Pelican warranted an upgrade. As such, her Silver Star was upgraded to the Distinguished Service Cross, the UNSC Army's second highest award for gallantry. As by that point her husband had been killed in action during the war against the Covenant, her medal was accepted on her behalf by her adopted parents.

(Trivia: Poblede's name was originally going to be Meghan, with her nickname being "Meg," but I changed it because as I was writing, I realized having two major characters' names both start with the letter "M" got very confusing for me (Moss and Meg.) Piper was just the first name I could think of that could be reduced to a simple nickname; it didn't occur to me what her initials would spell until I was halfway through the story, at which point it was too late to change. Other options I considered were: Jennifer "Jen," Jessica "Jess," and Natalie "Nat.")

 **XXXXX**

 **Lisbeth Alicia Norén**

Norén was born on June 6, 2513 in the Yukon Providence of Alluvion to Eelis Norén and Christina Evanson. She had one younger brother, Evert. Both her parents were bakers and owned their own specialty bakery.

The Yukon Providence was one of the many hotbeds of Insurgent activity on Alluvion. Despite this, Norén's parents displayed no interest in politics, nor had any involvement with either the local government or the Insurgency, and initially Norén was the same way.

That all changed when Norén entered high school, and attended a civics course taught by Gloria Andes. Andes was a strong supporter of the independence movement, believing the UEG and later the UNSC were flawed institutions who failed to respect the rights of the colonies under their charge, and that Alluvion would be better off as a self-ruled, independent colony. Under Andes' tutelage, Norén would eventually adopt those same views.

Initially, Norén was content to limit her political activities to simply attending mass rallies and protests against the UEG and UNSC. However, her stance would quickly change in late 2531.

On November 7, 2531, in the Yukon provincial capital of Greenwood, in what would later be labelled as the "Greenwood City Massacre," uniformed UNSC soldiers open fired into a crowd of protesters. As a result of the gunfire and the resulting stampede, fourteen protesters were killed, with another thirty-five wounded, while five police officers and two UNSC militiamen were injured. The incident spurred Norén to adopt a more militant stance against the UNSC.

On November 7, 2532, the first anniversary of the Greenwood City Massacre, all soldiers involved in the shooting were cleared of wrongdoing. Infuriated, Norén quickly decided to take up arms against the UNSC. On December 1, she decided to join the local branch of Alluvion's largest and most active insurgent group, the self-styled "Alluvion Defense Force." Due to concerns about reprisals against her family by the local government, Norén did not inform any of them about her decision, only leaving them a note before sneaking out in the middle of the night. Unbeknownst to her, due to her insurgent activities and later the Covenant invasion, it would be the last time she ever saw them.

As part of her training, Norén was sent to an ADF training camp called Camp Forrester in the southern area of the Yukon Province. There, she was assigned the MOSID of combat engineer and promoted to the rank of "Sapper." After completing her training, Norén was assigned to the Alluvion Engineer Corps and immediately deployed, first seeing combat on her 20th birthday during the Battle of Solomon's Hill. During the battle, she fought against the UNSC administered Alluvion Army and was wounded by sniper fire whereupon she was withdrawn from the front to recover.

In early 2534, Norén was returned to her unit in time to participate in Operation Farscape, the ADF operation intended to remove all UNSC presence from the eastern-most district of the Yukon Province, the Dawson District. The operation was a massive success, resulting in the destruction of two entire Alluvion infantry divisions (which would later be erroneously reported as having been two UNSC rifle divisions.)

In February of 2535, Norén participated in the Battle of Breanne's, the largest tank battle in the history of Alluvion. The battle marked the first time Norén would fight against UNSC regulars, as opposed to UNSC militia. During the two month long battle, Norén would be awarded the Alluvion Cross of Valour, the ADF's second highest award, for singlehandedly destroying a UNSC Army Scorpion tank pinning her battalion down.

Norén next saw action in 2536 during what would later be known as the 1st Battle for Greenway, the ADF effort to liberate the capital of the Yukon Province. During the battle, Norén's commanding officer and platoon sergeant were killed by a UNSC airstrike. Due to her position next to the platoon radio, Norén quickly took command and was able to rally her unit and continue the fight. For her actions, Norén was awarded the Medal of Bravery and promoted to the rank of Corporal.

The 1st Battle of Greenwood would ultimately result in an ADF victory, with UNSC forces withdrawing from the city at the start of 2537. As a result, Norén spent the entirety of 2537 aiding her battalion in rebuilding the city, as well as constructing a series of firebases on the hills surrounding the city, including one of the largest on Szechuan Hill, to defend against UNSC attempts to recapture the city.

On April 12, 2538, Norén was sent to Szechuan Hill in order to investigate why the base had gone radio silent the night before. There, in what would later become known as the Massacre of Szechuan Hill (referred to as the Battle of Hill 117 by the UNSC,) Norén found that every single occupant of the base had been killed. Though unknown at the time, Norén would later find out the rumors about a secret UNSC special operations team being responsible for the massacre were true.

The loss of Szechuan Hill allowed the UNSC to finally launch their attack to recapture Greenwood. On April 14, the UNSC began their assault, triggering the 2nd Battle for Greenwood. Despite Norén and her unit's best efforts, the city would be captured by the UNSC on October 19, 2538. With the loss of so many experienced men and in the face of a renewed UNSC offensive, Norén took part in a series of engagements designed to slow the UNSC advance. On May 11, 2539, during one such engagement, Norén was wounded again when her armored vehicle drove over an improperly marked ADF mine.

At the start of 2540, the ADF was unexpectedly attacked by another Insurgent group, the United Rebel Front. Though they shared a common foe, deep rivalries existed between the ADF and the URF and the incident resulted in open warfare between the two groups. As a result, on March 23rd, while escorting a supply convoy, Norén was ambushed, captured, and made prisoner by URF forces. While being held as a prisoner by the URF, the UNSC run Phoenix Program would be leaked to the media, resulting in a surge of support for the ADF among the local population. This surge in support would allow the ADF to reorganize their forces and go back on the offensive, initiating the 3rd Battle for Greenwood in mid-2540.

Norén would be held by the URF until April 1, 2541. On that date, the camp was attacked by UNSC ODSTs, as part of a UNSC attempt to permanently end the war. Due to her enlistment with the ADF, Norén was immediately made a prisoner of the UNSC. While as a prisoner of the UNSC, Norén would attempt to escape multiple times and eventually, would be put into a cryo cell to prevent any further attempts. She would remain there for five months.

At the beginning of 2542, the Covenant invaded Alluvion. In the face of a common foe, the UNSC and all remaining Insurgent forces, including the ADF and the URF, immediately agreed to a cease fire. As part of that agreement, all insurgents taken prisoner were released, and re-armed to aid in the defense of the colony. Due to the speed of the Covenant advance, Norén was not able to rejoin her unit. Instead, she was promoted to the rank of Sergeant (at her insistence, it was changed to Master Corporal to reflect the ADF rank titles) and put in charge of a small section of other former ADF POWs, then assigned to the UNSC military police battalion that had been her guards for the better part of the year.

Norén's first saw action against the Covenant at Greenwood, during the Battle of Greenwood (Human-Covenant War,) location of one of the first Covenant landing sites. With both sides having exhausted themselves during the 3rd Battle of Greenwood, neither the UNSC nor the ADF were able to mount an effective defense, and the city was soon lost. During the retreat, Norén would encounter some of her former comrades and to her surprise, she would find out that due to the length of time she'd been held prisoner without being executed, she was being considered by many to be a traitor. Unable to prove otherwise, the accusation would plague her for the remainder of her life.

Norén spent the rest of the month fighting against Covenant forces. During the Battle of Solomon's Hill (Human-Covenant War,) she was critically wounded by a Covenant plasma mortar. Because she was still attached to a UNSC Army battalion, she was evacuated by the UNSC to Reach for medical treatment. Two days after her hospital ship left orbit, the Covenant Navy would cut off all UNSC supply lines to Alluvion, and Alluvion itself would be glassed less than a week later. Upon arriving at Reach, Norén would immediately be arrested by the UNSC for terrorism. While in UNSC captivity, Norén would learn that her family, whom she had not seen in over ten years, had not been able to make it off the surface before Alluvion was glassed.

Norén was held by the UNSC for two years before she was able to convince the government she was not a threat. Angry, depressed, and hungry for revenge, Norén quickly attempted the join the UNSC Armed Forces. Reluctant to allow a former Innie among their ranks, the UNSC nevertheless allowed her to enlist, though only allowing her entry into the UNSC Army, and the Airborne Army at that. Norén enlisted as a combat engineer and upon graduating from the Army Airborne School on Reach in February of 2545, was assigned as a replacement to the 222nd Airborne Division. Joining the division five days before the Battle of Seven Pines, she was able to assist in the UNSC defense of the town.

Norén spent the remainder of the month fighting the 222nd during Operation Long Patrol. On April 20, she took part in the Battle of Hill 937. Despite being hit by a friendly UNSC mortar, which resulted in the death of her fireteam commander, Norén was able to assist her squad in accomplishing their objective, resulting in a victory for the UNSC.

After the battle, the 222nd was withdrawn from Newsaka and redeployed back to their garrison planet of Skopje for rest and refit, however along the way, the colony of Actium was invaded by the Covenant and the division was re-routed to aid in the defense. During the campaign, Norén was involved in the opening stages of the Battle of Byzas.

In the middle of the battle, Norén and her squad were temporary assigned to the UNSC Army Special Warfare Group Three to assist in Operation White Knuckle, the rescue of a Spartan team trapped behind enemy lines. As part of the operation, Norén was able to assist in the destruction of the Byzas subway system, the destruction of the Byzas Space Museum, as well as partake in Operation Dunkirk, the evacuation of several hundred civilians trapped behind enemy lines. However, while attempting to accomplish one of the objectives of Operation White Knuckle, Norén was ambushed and taken prisoner by the Covenant.

Norén was quickly rescued, and was able to continue with the operation, however while attempting to extract, Norén was accidently shot in the back by friendly forces, causing massive internal hemorrhaging, and she quickly bled to death.

Aftermath

For her actions during Operation White Knuckle, Norén was posthumously promoted to the rank of "Sergeant" and awarded by the UNSC the following: the Bronze Star with "V" device, the Purple Heart, as well as the UNSC Prisoner of War Medallion, making her one of the few humans to have ever been held prisoner by all three participants of the war: the Insurgents (United Rebel Front,) the UNSC, and the Covenant.

(Trivia: the name Lisbeth Norén is a recycled name from one of my earlier drafts. In that draft, she wasn't an Innie, just another UNSC soldier serving alongside her brother, Evert. The former Innie aspect was supposed to be another character named Weili "Whaley" Zhang, but I didn't want two main characters with two Chinese names so I combined the two.)

 **XXXXX**

 **Job Griffin**

Griffin's exact date of birth is unknown, though it is generally believed he was born sometime in January of 2525 in the Mato Grosso Providence of Mamore. He was discovered as an infant abandoned on the steps of a church on March 2, 2525. No record of his existence was ever found, a DNA search for blood relatives turned up negative, and no one ever surfaced to claim him; a rather common occurrence in war torn Mato Grosso. Griffin's first name was derived from the character in the bible and his last name was adopted from the church he was discovered on: Griffin Presbyterian Church.

Mato Grosso was a region disrupted by war. Due to a general lack of manpower, the UNSC only had marginal control over the region. UNSC forces and the local government were constantly clashing with Innie groups and organized crime for influence over the providence. As a result, in a system that was already flooded with war orphans, Griffin spent his entire childhood bouncing from foster home to orphanage, to streets and the homeless shelter, never staying in one place for more than a year. He grew up with no home, no family, no friends, and no prospects.

In 2543, as a child of the system, Griffin was automatically drafted into the Army. However, due to his lack of a stable address, Griffin was not made aware of this fact until 2545, when he was picked up by local police for trespassing, and then charge for draft dodging. The charges were dropped when his situation came to light and Griffin agreed to join anyways.

Draftees were automatically assigned a combat arms MOS, therefore Griffin was assigned the MOS of 12B (combat engineer) and sent to Fort de Moraes in Mato Grosso where he attended one station unit training. Upon graduating in April 2545, Griffin was deployed to Newsaka during the Newsaka Campaign as a non-assigned replacement. At the Replacement Depot, due to some confusion on the part of the repple depple commander who mistakenly believed Griffin had volunteered for the Army, Griffin was assigned as a replacement to the 131st Combat Engineer Battalion of the 3rd Brigade Combat Team, 222nd Airborne Division due to a lack of paratrooper replacements. He joined the unit two days after the Battle of Seven Pines. He was able to participate in the opening stages of Operation Long Patrol however a week into the operation, Griffin was lightly wounded by shrapnel from his own grenade.

Recovering quickly, Griffin was able to participate in the Battle of Hill 937 where, despite a Covenant ambush, he was able to assist his squad in capturing the top of the hill and destroying the Covenant anti-aircraft cannon stationed there.

Griffin's next battle came during the Actium Campaign. While his unit was returning home to Skopje, Actium and invaded by the Covenant and the 222nd was diverted to reinforce local defenders. During the opening stages of what would later become known as the Battle of Byzas, Griffin's Pelican was shot down. Suffering no injuries, Griffin was able to assist his platoon in hold back the Covenant advance for several hours until he was relieved by elements of the 9th Marine Expeditionary Force.

Upon being relieved from the frontline, Griffin was temporarily reassigned with the rest of his squad to the UNSC Army Special Warfare Group Three where he participated in Operation White Knuckle, the rescue of a Spartan team trapped behind enemy lines. During the operation, Griffin assisted his squad in the destruction of the entire Byzas Subway Line to prevent its usage by the Covenant, as well as the destruction of the Byzas Space Museum to prevent the possibility of Covenant forces from finding Earth. He was also a participant in Operation Dunkirk. However, while attempting to accomplish his mission's objectives, Griffin's unit was ambushed by a squad of Covenant special operatives. Griffin was instantly killed in the opening barrage when the wall he was taking cover behind took a direct hit.

Aftermath

For his actions during Operation White Knuckle, Griffin was posthumously promoted to the rank of "Specialist" and awarded the Bronze Star with "V" Device, as well as the Purple Heart. As he had no living family members on record, his medals were accepted on his behalf by his squad leader, Sergeant Moss Shen.

 **XXXXX**

 **Cliff Jonathan Roer**

Roer was born on June 6, 2527 in the Thracia Province of Actium, the only son of Tobias Roer, a construction worker, and Susan Lipinski, an office secretary. When Roer was three months old, his father walked out of the family, leaving Roer to be raised by his mother alone.

As a young boy, Roer was a shy and socially awkward child. In an effort to encourage him to be more social, at the age of six, Roer's mother signed him up for the local Cub Scout pack. There, he would met the leader of the den, Phillip Hoffman. Hoffman was a former paratrooper and combat medic who had served during the early stages of the Insurgency before being medically discharge due the loss of his right leg. As troop leader, Hoffman would act a mentor to the children under his care, enthralling them with stories of his time in the Army, as well as teach them various first aid tricks he had learned through his career. While as a Cub Scout and later a Boy Scout, Roer and Hoffman would form a close bond, with Hoffman eventually becoming a substitute father figure to Roer. Because of this bond, Hoffman would become a major influence in shaping Roer's worldview.

In 2538, when Roer was ten, his mother would re-marry, marrying Michael Russell, a floor supervisor at the factory she worked. Together, they would have on daughter, Lily Russell.

In 2544, at the age of sixteen, Roer, with permission from his parents and the gentle encouragement of Hoffman, decided to enlist in the Army and immediately volunteered for the Airborne Army. He chose to become a combat engineer as it was the only combat arms MOS with slots available at the time, thus allowing him to be immediately sent to basic training. As Roer was still in high school at the time, his training was divided into two: he attended basic during the summer between his sophomore and junior year, then combat engineering AIT and Airborne School in the summer between his junior and senior years (at the time Roer enlisted, in an attempt to increase the amount of soldiers available, the Army had decided to reduce all training time by two weeks.) Because of his status as an Eagle Scout, upon graduating from basic training, Roer was promoted to the rank of "Specialist."

As part of a program with the government, Roer's school district allowed students intending to join the military to graduate school early, provided they were able to pass their finals. Afraid he was going to miss out on the war, Roer took the deal and by April of 2545, Roer had graduated from high school and was immediately deployed to Newsaka as a replacement for the 131st Combat Engineer Battalion, 3rd Brigade, 222nd Airborne Division. He arrived on Newsaka on April 18, 2545.

Two days later, Roer was thrown into combat when the 222nd attacked Hill 937, triggering the Battle of Hill 937. During the course of the battle, Roer, using training he had received from Hoffman, was able to save the life of his squad leader. For his actions, Roer would later be awarded the Bronze Star.

Assisting his unit, the 222nd was able to break through Covenant defensive positions and capture the hill, destroying the anti-aircraft cannon stationed on top. The Battle of Hill 937 was the last major battle of the Newsaka campaign and the 222nd was quickly withdrawn and redeployed to their garrison planet of Skopje for rest and refit.

En route to Skopje however, the Covenant launched an invasion of Roer's homeworld, Actium, with forces landing directly in the very province he grew up in, triggering the Battle of Actium. Thrown off guard by the sudden attack, a large number of UNSC divisions were immediately sent to reinforce Actium, with the 222nd being one of them.

Shocked and terrified for his family's safety, Roer nevertheless joined his squad as they traveled to the city of Byzas to establish a defensive position. While in transit to the surface, Roer's Pelican was disabled by and EMP and crashed. Roer was able to escape uninjured, however he and his squad were immediately assault by advancing Covenant. Nevertheless, Roer and his squad were able to make it back to friendly positions.

Lending their assistance to local defenders, Roer and his squad were able to stall the Covenant advance long enough for reinforcements to arrive.

Upon being relieved by elements of the 9th Marine Expeditionary Force, Roer and his squad were immediately reassigned to the Army's Special Warfare Group Three to partake in Operation White Knuckle, the rescue of a Spartan team trapped behind enemy lines. Together with his squad, Roer was able to infiltrate Covenant lines. While conducting his mission, Roer also took the opportunity to search for signs of his family.

During the course of the operation, Roer, along with the majority of his squad, were captured by the Covenant. His squad was quickly rescued, but Roer disappeared during the rescue attempt. He was last seen by his squad leader, Sergeant Moss Shen who reported seeing Roer running for a weapon. On May 8, 2545, Roer was declared "missing in action." When Byzas was destroyed by UNSC forces later that year, Roer's status would be changed to that of "Killed in Action."

Aftermath

For his part in Operation White Knuckle, Roer was posthumously promoted to the rank of "Sergeant." He was awarded the Bronze Star with "V" device, as well as the UNSC Prisoner of War Medallion, making him one of the few soldiers in the Human-Covenant War to receive such an award. As his family was never seen again after the glassing of Actium, his awards were accepted on his behalf by his long time mentor, Phillip Hoffman.

(Trivia: Kind of like Norén, Cliff Roer is a recycled name from one of my earlier drafts. This incarnation of this character was originally going to be named "Peterson" but again, having two major characters that both started with the same letter got confusing for me (Poblede and Peterson) so I changed it.)

* * *

The following is basically how I imagined the 222nd Airborne Division would be broken down in terms of subordinate units. It's pretty much a cut and paste of how the current U.S. Army organizes their brigades, with some slight modification. Given the theoretical size of the UNSC Army, with numbers potentially in the hundreds of billions, this is probably not the most realistic way of how the UNSC Army would be organized, but I'm not a military theorist and grand scheme planning is a little over my head.

As is with the U.S. Army, regiments are only really intended to be administrative units, with only combat arms (minus combat engineers,) having regiments.

One last thing, I don't think I've ever mentioned this, but the cover art to this story is intended to be the divisional shoulder sleeve insignia of the 222nd. For those of you who might be on mobile and can't see it, it's nothing fancy, just a black silhouette of a Jackalope on top of a red shield with a solid black tab over it and the word "Airborne" written in red letters.

* * *

 **Table of Organization and Equipment**

 **222nd Airborne Division**  
Division Headquarters and Headquarters Battalion (HHB)  
1st Airborne Brigade Combat Team  
2nd Airborne Brigade Combat Team  
3rd Airborne Brigade Combat Team (Moss' Brigade)  
222nd Airborne Divisional Artillery  
222nd Combat Aviation Brigade  
222nd Sustainment Brigade

 **Breakdown of 3rd Airborne Brigade Combat Team**  
\- Brigade Headquarters and Headquarters Company (HCC)  
\- 5th Squadron, 173rd Cavalry Regiment (Reconnaissance surveillance and target acquisition unit (RSTA))  
\- 4-331st Parachute Infantry Regiment (Infantry)  
\- 1-577th Parachute Infantry Regiment (Infantry)  
\- 6-597th Parachute Infantry Regiment (Quebec Company was assigned to this battalion)  
\- 2-777th Field Artillery Regiment  
\- 131st Engineer Battalion (Moss was assigned to this battalion)  
\- 227th Support Battalion

 **Breakdown of 131st Engineer Battalion**  
\- HHC  
\- Alpha Company (Combat Engineers/Moss was assigned to this company)  
\- Bravo Company (Combat Engineers)  
\- Charlie Company (Military Intelligence)  
\- Delta Company (Signal Network Support)

 **Breakdown of Alpha Company**  
\- Company Staff  
\- 1st Platoon (Moss' Platoon)  
\- 2nd Platoon  
\- 3rd Platoon  
\- Heavy Equipment Platoon

 **1st Platoon**  
Platoon Staff (as of the Prologue)  
\- Commanding Officer: 1st Lieutenant James Lancelot  
\- Platoon Sergeant: Sergeant First Class Adrian Stalgis  
\- Platoon Medic: Airman Ginevra Westley  
\- 1st Squad  
\- 2nd Squad (Moss' Squad)  
\- 3rd Squad  
\- 4th Squad

(Note: the rank for the platoon medic isn't a typo – Westley was originally going to play a bigger role in the story, so I wrote some elaborate backstory for her where she was an Air Force medic who had "voluntold" to be a front line Army medic. However, after I started writing, I decided to reduce the amount of characters, so I cut her out in lieu of Doc Falco. Funnily enough, I ended up cutting out most of Doc Falco's stuff too; originally, Xanthus was supposed to die during the prisoner rescue saving Pip as part of his "redemption" arch with Falco surviving up until the end. But as I wrote the story, I realized I had made Xanthus a lot more interested than Falco, so I just decided to combine the two and have Falco disappeared (literally) at the end of Chapter 4.)

 **2nd Squad**  
Roster at the start of the Battle of Actium  
\- Squad Leader: Sergeant Moss Shen  
\- Assistant Squad Leader/Team Leader: Corporal Piper Poblede  
\- Specialist Lisbeth Norén  
\- Specialist Cliff Roer  
\- Private Job Griffin

 **Roster during the Prologue**  
\- Squad Leader: Sergeant Harry Ferguson  
Alpha Team  
\- Team Leader: Corporal Cynthia Shin  
\- Automatic Rifleman: Private Anton Bashir  
\- Rifleman: Specialist Lisbeth Norén  
\- Rifleman: Specialist Cliff Roer  
Bravo Team  
\- Team Leader: Corporal Moss Shen  
\- Grenadier: Private First Class Piper Poblede  
\- Rifleman: Private Job Griffin  
\- Automatic Rifleman: Private Rufus McTavish (aka "One")

 **Roster at the start of Newsaka**  
\- Squad Leader: Staff Sergeant Wilbert Tanner (first mentioned in chapter 1, first appeared in chapter 8)  
Alpha Team  
\- Team Leader: Sergeant Harry Ferguson  
\- Automatic Rifleman: Private Moss Shen  
\- Grenadier: Private Piper Poblede  
\- Rifleman: Korak "Kellogg" Kobani (first mentioned in chapter 11)  
Bravo Team  
\- Team Leader: Corporal Cynthia Shin  
\- Automatic Rifleman: Specialist Jarid "The Mole" Stohl (first mentioned in chapter 11)  
\- Rifleman: Private Noelle "Smelly" Patel (first mentioned in chapter 11)  
\- Grenadier: Private Quintus Vox (never mentioned)

(As noted in chapter 16, the 222nd Airborne Division is subordinate to the XXVII [27th] Airborne Corps, which in turn is subordinate to the Ninth Airborne Army. The Ninth Airborne Army takes orders from Skopje Army Defense command which is in charge of all Army operations on Skopje. Anything higher than that is not really important, mainly because it gets confusing as hell.)

* * *

This next part is what I call "Answers to Questions that nobody asked." Basically, when planning this story, I asked myself some questions about the events depicted in this story just so I could fill in the background and hopefully avoid any major plot holes (outside of the ones I pointed in the story itself.) These were quick little things I wrote for myself, so the spelling and grammar might not be the best.

* * *

Why did the Covenant commit to a surface attack?

The Covenant wanted to capture the planet for the same reasons the UNSC colonized the planet in the first place: the high concentration of iron ore within the planet's crust.

Why were the three largest landing sites located around one area on the planet? (As mentioned in the Halopedia article for Actium)

That was the result of the meddling of the assigned Prophet Minister (Minister of Contentment.) Originally, the Covenant war plan was to land troops at seven different locations around the planet in order to assault the colony directly. The landing at Byzas was only the first. However, upon the discovery of evidence that Demons (Spartan-II) were present and potentially vulnerable inside the city, the Minister immediately diverted all troops and landing craft to the one location in order to capture the Demon.

When Lepidus (the Jiralhanae commander the Hierarch chose to take over, as discussed in the Epilogue) took charge of the battle two days later, the UNSC had already reinforced their positions around the colony. With the knowledge that attempting a landing on a fully alert enemy would result in unacceptably high casualties, Lepidus decided to expand the existing beachhead and focus on a more traditional, armored land conquest of the colony. The shift of focus to more of a land invasion also had the added benefit of delegating the Covenant Navy (and the Sangheili that crewed them) to more of a support role, thus stripping them of even more authority and subtly insulting by their warriors from participating in the glorious conquest of the planet.

Why did the Covenant care so much about the presence of the Demons, to the point they were willing to compromise their own invasion plans?

All that was the work of the Minister of Contentment. The Minister was a young and ambitious San'Shyuum whose ultimate goal was to transplant the current Hierarchs. In order to accomplish that, the Minister needed more political power. In order to acquire that, the Minister needed support from the High Council. However the other Council members wouldn't be willing to risk their own power and livelyhood to support some young upstart. The Minister needed to prove that he was a capable leader and a worthy contender to the sitting Hierarchs (Truth, Regret, & Mercy.) One of the ways to achieve that was to do something none of the three had been able to do while they were in power, like, capturing a Demon alive. If the Minister had been able to do that, not only would that have demonstrated his strengthen, but also his military prowess.

In the end, none of that would come to pass as the Minister would be assassinated in the field on the first day of the invasion by UNSC forces while conducting an inspection of one of the Covenant's forward operating bases.

How was Moss able to get close enough in order to assassinate the Minister in the first place?

By accident. Because the base was so hastily put up, the outer perimeter fixed defenses had yet to arrive on the surface. The holes in the defenses were supposed to be protected by a series of patrols. The area where Moss entered was supposed to be protected by a patrol led by a young Elite Major who was thirsty to achieve glory for his family, and resented being put on guard duty. When the Spec Ops patrol that Moss killed at the end of chapter 8 went radio silent, the Major decided to take his patrol to go investigate, hoping he would find a Demon he could capture and thus win all sorts of acclamation and commendations. While the Major and his patrol were gone, Moss unknowingly walked through the hole they had left behind. By the time the Major returned, it was too late as Contentment had already been killed.

So what happened to the Major?

Forced to commit ritual suicide to preserve his family's honor. He was not able to participate in the rest of the Battle of Byzas.

Why did it take nearly a month to capture Byzas? (The city most of this story takes place in.)

Politics. As disinterested as Lepidus was in allowing the Sangheili ground troops to participate in the fighting, he was pragmatic enough to realize he couldn't afford to have thousands of bored Sangheili warriors merely sitting around on their ships, waiting for something to happen. So he assigned them the task of capturing the city in order to keep them occupied. However, citing limited resources and more pressing military matters, Lepidus only assigned them the barest amount of support, deliberately withholding much of their artillery, armored, and air support, forcing the Sangheili to capture city from deeply entrenched and well equipped foe essentially by themselves. Not only did this put the Sangheili in a meat grinder of a battle, causing thousands of unnecessary casualties among the Sangheili forces, it also had the unforeseen benefit making the Sangheili the scapegoat when UNSC forces detonated two Havoc nukes within the landing zones, which not only killed millions of Covenant warriors in the initial blast, but also rendered the entire planet unusable, making the entire battle a pointless waste of time, material, and lives.

As all the Sangheili generals were killed in the battle (because, as was tradition, they were leading the battle from the frontlines,) Lepidus was able to make it appear as if the nukes were the result of incompetence on the part of the Sangheili (look how long it took for them to capture one small city, one they could even secure properly,) thus damaging their image and authority in front of the rest of the Covenant species.

What roles do the Sangheili and Jiralhane play in the Covenant?

The Elites serve not only in the Navy role due to their long term service in the Covenant, giving them the experience and knowledge needed for space warfare, Elite warriors also serve in a similar role to the UNSC Marine Corps, acting as both the expeditionary force of the Covenant, as well the protectors and guardians of the Covenant Navy.

Meanwhile, the Brutes occupy a similar role to the UNSC Army and Air Force, acting as the primary ground and occupational force of the Covenant Army. And, similar to the UNSC Air Force, while Brutes were allowed to possess a few warships of their own, they are intended to be used more in a utility role, possessing few ship-to-ship weapons.

(Which is why during the Schism, despite outnumbering the Elite fleets in a number of incidents, the Elites generally were able to come out as victors because of the Brutes' inexperience with space combat.)

What's the story behind the Spartans? Why were they at Actium in the first place?

The Spartans were part of a joint Army-Navy test program to prove to High Command that the Army could benefit greatly from the permanent assignment of Spartans to the Army (as sort of outlined in the Epilogue.) The particular Spartans in this story were part of Argon Team, one of the many Spartan test teams. They were at Actium to test some weapons (Actium had several large weapon development depots on the surface,) as well as run integration drills due to the presence of Spartan B-170, newly arrived from Beta Company. Before anything could be done, the Covenant invaded.

In order to assist local defenders, Argon Team volunteered to board one of the Covenant CCS-class battlecruisers with a Shiva nuke, and destroy it from the inside. The plan was approved by both Army and Navy commanders, and Argon Team was able to successfully infiltrate the vessel and plant the nuke. However, during extraction, the nuke prematurely detonated due to interference from a Covenant soldier, and the Spartans were caught in the ensuing blast. While they were able to survive, they were tossed in the direction of the planet. While they were able to recover a piece of Covenant ship armor to use as a heat shield to survive re-entry (like Master Chief did prior to the beginning of Halo 3,) they were moving too fast and hit the ground too hard to survive intact: B170 was killed, S-062 was crippled, and A019 wounded, but still mobile.

So what happened after?

A019 climbed out the crater to secure the area. Concerned about Covenant forces in the area, he disabled all transponders and beacons so he could be tracked. It was at that point, unbeknownst to him, he was spotted by two Provincial Militia soldiers Dubois and Chiotis (who were hiding in a nearby building.) On the surface, A019 spotted a Covenant patrol heading towards the crash site to investigate, so he engaged them to draw them away (who immediately called to report the sighting of a Demon the surface, catching Minister of Contentment's attention.) After losing the patrol, A019 doubled back to the crash site to recover his team. He discovered that S-062 was still alive, but heavily wounded, and that B170 was killed. He attempted to activate the armor fail-safe, but the fusion reactor had been ripped off during the fall, so he tossed a couple of white phosphorus grenades into the crater to eliminate the corpse.

After determining retreat with S-062 was all but impossible, and that he would have to fight his way back to friendly forces, he secured S-062 in a building in order to acquire more firepower. He found an IFV that was still function, but got ambushed by a Covenant patrol who are able to get a few lucky hits in. Bleeding heavily, he nevertheless brings the Armadillo IFV he recovered back near the building where Maria is. He starts to head back to Maria, but his injuries prove to be too much, and he has just enough time to make it to the ground floor of the building Maria is holed up in and set up a defensive position, before dying.

What happened to Roer?

He was able to make his way to his sister's school, where he found her and a couple of other people, though not his parents. After a quick reunion, he quickly realized the situation he was in (unarmed, away from all support, and no plan for extraction.) He ends up taking his sister and together they join a larger group of survivors however because of limited firepower, they're not able to break through Covenant lines on their own. They spend the next month or so just trying to survive, hoping upon hope that the UNSC would be able to recapture the city. Unfortunately, that doesn't happen and Roer, his sister, as well as all the other survivors are killed when UNSC forces nuke the city.

What happened to Roer's parents?

He never found them. After leaving Hoffman at the underground bunker near their place of work to retrieve their daughter, the car they were in was attacked by Banshees and destroyed. Roer's parents were killed within the first hour of the invasion, long before Roer ever made it back to the planet.

* * *

So that's pretty much it for now. If you guys have any questions, feel free to leave a review or PM me and I'll try to get back to you (apparently I can leave reviews on my own story. I had no idea. So if you're a guest and you have a question, check the reviews, I'll leave an answer there if need be.)


	20. One-Shot: Baptism by Fire

**Introduction** : This "chapter," as well as the next few that I am going to post in the coming weeks require some explanation. Like I said in the epilogue, Missing in Action is done and over. However, when I was writing the story, I would on occasion, get some writer's block (like all writers do at some point.) In an effort to overcome those blocks, I would write some other stories, some one shots, just to try something different. They're nothing fancy, just stories where I was trying some other techniques, both to practice and to mix things up. They all involve characters from this story, which is why rather than post them in a brand new story, I'm posting them here (no, I am not trying to drag this story out) [okay, maybe a little.]

At any case, I have five of these One Shots, all of which I will post here at a rate of once a week, at which point, this story will be truly over with.

I hope you guys stick around for these one shots and as always, I hope you enjoy.

Thanks.

* * *

 **Explanation** : Okay, so I wrote this one shot when I was starting to feel like I had made Moss a bit of a Mary Sue/Gary Stu. I thought I'd try and write a story where he wasn't so competent, and the best timeframe to write that was when he first began. So, this One Shot takes place two months before the prologue of Missing in Action.

Like I said, my goal was to try and make Moss seem a little less competent then he was in MIA. Um, I'll be honest, I don't really think I succeeded, but I'll leave it to the readers to decide.

The only other thing I tried to do here was to try and write a semi-realistic firefight. It's something I've been trying to do since the first chapter, because in all my research, the one thing everyone seems to agree on is that in modern combat, soldiers rarely see the enemy. At best, 90% they're just shooting at muzzle flashes. I've been trying to capture that feeling, but it's never really worked because a) that's not how the Covenant operate. They're very much in your face fighters. B) It kind of makes for a boring story actually. But, hopefully it's not too bad in this one.

* * *

 **Baptism by Fire**

Summary _: They say that no amount of training can prepare you for combat. That nothing can prepare you for the noise, the shock, the loss of complete control, and the sensation of total helplessness in the face of the enemy. Every combat veteran had to face the same thing. For Moss Shen, February 17, 2545 was his. Welcome to Operation Mossflower. Welcome to Newsaka. Welcome to the first day in the rest of his life._

* * *

 **Somewhere over Central Oshima, Newsaka  
** **February 17, 2545, SMC  
** **1855J**

Moss jerked awake as he felt someone drive their elbow into his ribs. For a moment he sat there, blink in confusion before he realized he must have fallen asleep at some point during the three hour Pelican ride. He let out a loud groan that was barely audible over the hum of the Pelican engines, before he removed his safety glasses and began rubbing his face, trying to wake up.

Someone touched his shoulder and Moss looked up to see Ferguson sitting in the seat next to him, a mild look of concern on his face. He leaned in close.

"Moss, you alright?" he shouted to be heard over the roar of the Pelican engines.

"Yeah," Moss replied. "I think so. Still haven't gotten accustomed to the eighteen hour days and the heavier gravity I think. What's going on?"

In lieu of a response, Ferguson pointed to the back of the plane. The red light over the rear cargo ramp had just turned on, and the sight electrified Moss, sending shivers down his spine and causing him to shake off the last remaining vestiges of exhaustion.

"We're nearing the drop zone!" Ferguson reported. "Let's start getting ready!" He frowned. "You sure you're alright Moss? You look pale, like you just saw a ghost or something."

Moss waved off his concerns. "Two days isn't exactly a long time to get accustomed to this environment, but I'll get over it."

Ferguson nodded. "Good enough. Just let me know if there's anything I can do to help."

"Affirmative."

Ferguson grinned. "Good. Now go wake up your girlfriend."

Despite his best efforts, Moss felt his cheeks begin to burn with embarrassment, and he quickly turned away before Ferguson could see it. Despite Ferguson's teasing, there wasn't actually anything going on between him and Poblede. They were just two young people around the same age, who just so happened to be assigned to the same squad at about the same time, which is why they hung out with each other. Under different circumstances, Moss doubted they would have even become friends, as they actually had very little in common.

Still, that being said, Moss couldn't deny the fact that Poblede was pretty hot and the idea of shacking up with her did have some appeal.

Leaning over, Moss carefully poked her in the cheek. "Piper!" he called out. "Hey Piper! Wake up!"

Poblede woke up with a jerk.

"Wha-?" she said, quickly wiping the crud out of her eyes. "Moss? What's going on?"

"We're nearing the drop zone," Moss gently informed her. "Come on, get up."

"Man," Poblede complained, even as she started to stretch out her arms. "Why'd you have to wake me up for? I was having a good dream: I was on a beach with my husband, drinking a milkshake."

"Well, you were so excited when we left the staging area, I figured you didn't want to miss the invasion," Moss informed her with a nod. Then he realized what she actually said. "Wait. Husband? You're married?"

"What? You didn't know that? Aren't you two like, besties or something?" another voice said, causing Moss to jump. He quickly whirled around to see Shin, checking over her assault rifle, sitting in the seat across from him. She grinned. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

You didn't scare me," Moss quickly denied. "Just, uh, just startled is all."

Shin snorted, clearly not buying it. "Yeah. Sure."

Fortunately Moss was saved from having to respond when Poblede spoke up.

"So, Sergeant, you never did answer me," Poblede was saying as Moss did his best to recover. "What's up with our new Lieutenant?

Lieutenant Lancelot?" Ferguson asked. "What, you got something against him? You certainly didn't raise any objections to him when he was giving us all that weapons training during our pre-deployment buildup."

"No, I got nothing against him," Poblede quickly said. "I'm just asking: since when are there executive officers at the platoon level?"

"Since experience has shown casualties are highest among the officer corps, especially on the first jump," Ferguson explained.

"But why a butterbar?"

"He's no butterbar," Shin protested. "He's a mustang. Former Marine Force Recon. For all intents and purposes, that's special operational forces right there."

"Of course that's what you would be worried about," Poblede commented with an obvious roll of her eyes.

"I'm just say, he's got all the training you would expect of an operator: BRC, SERE, Jump School, etc. He's better trained than all of us combined. Probably a better shot than you even."

"No one's a better shot than me," Poblede declared and Moss couldn't help but let out a derisive snort at her cockiness.

"Oh shut up Moss," she said with a roll of her eyes. "You know I'm right."

" _Attention all personnel, we are three minutes to drop_ ," the pilots abruptly said over the Pelican's intercom. " _All Paras, make ready_."

All conversations ceased as everyone climbed to their feet and turned so they were facing the rear of the Pelican. They then began checking over their equipment, making sure everything was secured. Moss quickly patted himself down, making sure all his straps had been tightened and all his pockets closed before reaching out to check on Ferguson, who was now standing in front of him. As he double checked the parachute Ferguson was wearing on his back to make sure it was in working order, Moss could feel Poblede standing behind him doing the same to his own parachute.

"You're set Sergeant!" Moss called out, slapping Ferguson on the shoulder once he was done. Ferguson nodded in acknowledgement and Moss waited for Poblede to report the same thing.

"Everything looks good!" she yelled into his ear.

Moss twisted around enough so he could give her a thumbs up before slapping the button over his head, changing his status light from the "standby" yellow to the "ready" green so everyone could see it. He looked around as everyone else quickly followed suit, and soon the entire aisle was full of little green lights.

"Listen up 2nd Squad," someone at the front of the Pelican abruptly yelled. Moss twisted his head to see Sergeant Tanner making his way down the aisle towards them.

"All of you know what's at stake here," Tanner was saying. "So I'm not going to repeating it. We're going in as part of the first wave which means things are going to get really hairy, really quickly. So I want every Trooper aboard this bird to be ready to fight the moment we hit the ground. I know the pressure on you has got to be enormous right now, but don't worry; it's alright to be scared. Remember: there can be no courage unless you're scared."

Tanner paused as he reached Moss.

"You good to go Private Shen?" he asked.

"Airborne Staff Sergeant," Moss bellowed as enthusiastically as he could. Tanner nodded.

"Good man," he said before continuing his way to the rear of the aircraft. As he walked away, Moss could hear Poblede snorting.

"What?" Moss demanded, glancing at her over his shoulder.

Moss could see her smiling, but she quickly shook her head.

" _One minute_ ," the pilots announced.

Suddenly, the entire Pelican shook as if it just hit some turbulence, almost knocking Moss of his feet. As he struggled to recover, he heard what sounded like hail hitting the side of the plane, then he felt rather than heard, the rumble of an explosion. As the Pelican continued to shake as several more explosions went off, Moss felt the adrenaline in his veins spike as he realize what it was. His theory was confirmed moments later when the pilot announced:

" _Crew, we're currently receiving light flak from the ground. We're evading, standby."_

"Remember your training!" Tanner yelled from the rear of the Pelican. "And you will make it through! WHAT ARE WE?"

"AIRBORNE!" the entire bay yelled back.

"Damn right we are," Tanner declared.

The rumbling continued.

Moss took a deep breath in an attempt to slow his heartrate down a bit. Rather than think about what was coming next, Moss instead tried to focus on the plan.

Approximately one week ago, the UNSC colony of Newsaka was invaded by the Covenant. Making landfall in the northern mountainous part of Newsaka's largest continent of Oshima, in an area collectively known as the Tien Giang Forest, the Covenant invasion force had quickly shrug aside all resistance, pushing their way south towards the more populous regions in a concerted effort to kill as many humans as possible. Though their momentum had been checked by three UNSC Marine expeditionary forces and four Navy fleets, the Covenant were hardly perturbed. They began to fortify the territory they had already captured, necessitating the UNSC to send in an entire Army Group to flush them out.

Moss was part of that force.

As part of Operation Mossflower, the UNSC's codename for the first phase in the recapturing of Newsaka, Moss, the 222nd Airborne Division, and the entire XXVII Airborne Corps was getting dropped smack dap in the middle of Covenant controlled territory in an effort to isolate the primary Covenant invasion force in southern Oshima from their landing sites in the Tien Giang Forest. The operation was expected to be highly dangerous, resulting in many human casualties especially among the airborne forces, however the payoff would be that the entire Covenant Army on Newsaka would be cut in two, allowing them to be defeated in detail.

" _Thirty seconds."_

The pilot's voice cut right through Moss' musings, and he quickly took another deep breath.

"MASKS ON!" Moss heard Tanner order from the back of the Pelican. Moss looked up to see Tanner strapping on his oxygen mask and Moss quickly followed suit as, with a whine of hydraulics, the ramp to the Pelican opened, exposing the cargo bay to the darkened sky outside.

Temperatures plummeted as the cargo bay was exposed to the thin atmosphere outside and Moss shivered, both because of the cold and the green explosions that were lighting up the night sky outside; clearly Covenant anti-aircraft batteries were still at work.

" _Launching ordnance pods."_

In the pale light casted by the explosions, Moss could see the half dozen Type-"C" resupply canisters carrying the squad's heavy weapons get ejected from the Pelican's tail assembly and quickly disappear into the darkness. Moss tightly gripped his fist in anticipation of what was coming next.

High altitude low opening (HALO) jumps used to be the primary mainstay of special forces due to the complexity and specialized training needed to conduct such a jump. However as technology and military tactics evolved, the technique began to be used by more and more conventional Airborne units, until it finally became the Airborne's preferred method of deployment. In a HALO jump, paratroopers would jump out of an aircraft but instead of immediately deploying their parachutes as they would in a static line drop, the parachutist would instead wait until the last possible second to deploy their parachute.

The primary advantage of using such a technique was that it minimized the time a parachutist needed to spend helplessly suspended in the air, reducing potential casualties and allowing for an overall more successful drop. It also allowed the aircraft to fly at much higher altitudes, thus allowing the transport to evade potential ground-based anti-aircraft fire. For an operation like this, HALO jumps were the best and most efficient option however for Moss, who was never a big fan of falling in the first place, he felt completely terrified no matter what they did. Still, backing out was not an option at this point and even if it was, there was no way Moss was going to puss out in front of all his buddies now.

The light above the open ramp abruptly turned green.

" _2nd Squad, follow me!"_ Tanner bellowed over the radio as he waddled to the end of the ramp. _"HI-HO SILVER!"_ he screamed then toppled over the edge and instantly disappeared from view.

At once, everyone in the cargo bay began to surge forward. With his oxygen mask on, it was impossible for anyone to see how scared Moss was but on the inside, he was frozen with fear. He felt like a kid that was about to be called into the principal's office. The only thing that kept him moving was that he could sense the entire mass of paratroopers behind him, eagerly pushing forward, and the last thing Moss wanted was to get trampled. So he closed his eyes and felt his feet automatically move him closer and closer to his fate.

Distracted as he was, Moss wasn't aware of how far he had traveled until he heard the Pelican's crew chief screaming " _NO FEAR"_ into his ear and startled, Moss opened his eyes only to find he was standing right on the edge of the ramp. Thrown off balance, Moss toppled over the edge and into the night sky.

The first few seconds were almost indescribable. The sound of his breathing filled his ears as Moss felt his stomach drop and his started to feel a bit lightheaded. His muscles reflexively tensed, and the sensation that he was going to either shit his pants, or piss himself, or both, overwhelmed his thoughts. His face was lit up as his night vision goggles, as well as the altimeter in his HUD automatically activated, showing his exact height: he was roughly ten thousand meters above sea level and falling fast. Unless he manually activated it, his parachute wasn't going to open until he was within **six hundred** meters above sea level.

There was a tremendous thunderclap of an explosion behind him, and Moss turned his head to see a Pelican passing by overhead had just taken a direct hit to one of its engines. Orange flames were shooting out of the right wind stabilizer and paratroopers were pouring out of the rear at a frantic pace. Moss could see the Pelican was starting to drift to the right, but somehow the Pelican remained flying. Man those birds could take a lot of damage.

Moss didn't have time to admire the engineering behind the Pelican because almost at the same time, green explosions began lighting up the sky around him; the anti-aircraft battery on the ground had clearly decided the paratroopers plummeting through the sky were more of a priority than the empty Pelicans above them.

Below him, Moss could see the shadowy figures of several other paratroopers (his HUD identified them as 1st Squad, Tanner, and Ferguson,) who had deployed before him throwing themselves into a dive and he followed suit, his fear of falling quickly being triumph by his fear of getting blown up. The numbers in his HUD rapidly began to tick down towards six hundred, and Moss could only hope he could make it to the ground before the Covenant AA could zero in on him.

There was a flash of orange below him but before Moss could identify what it was, he felt his teeth rattling as he was struck by the rumbling of a jet engine directly overhead. Moss snapped his head up in time to see a Shortsword, one of their Air Force fighter escorts, rocketing its way through the sky. As it passed directly overhead, a single black object was ejected from the fighter's underbelly. The object shot through the rank of the paratroopers at speeds Moss couldn't possibly hope to match, before, seconds later, a giant orange fireball began rising from the ground below them, roughly correspondent to where most of the flak had been coming from.

The fireball illuminated the silhouettes of the soldiers below him, revealing some of them were missing, including Tanner. Were they forced to pull their chutes early?

Moss started to look for open chutes above him but before he could even begin his search, a chime filled his ears as a warning flashed across his face: Altitude reached.

There was a small pop as Moss' parachute automatically deployed from his back. It took a few seconds for the parachute to unfurl, but then a grunt slipped through Moss' lips as his entire body jerked from the impact of his chute deploying. In a few seconds, Moss rapidly went from near terminal velocity to less than twenty-eight kilometers per hour. Below him, Moss could barely make out the chutes of everyone else in front of him, and he quickly tried to angle himself towards an empty spot on the ground to avoid colliding with anyone.

Floating the rest of the way down to the ground, Moss landed near a small cluster of trees. He hit the ground, reflexively collapsing his legs like he'd been trained to do to absorb the impact, toppling over and landing on his side, his chute settling on the ground behind him. The first thing he did, even before trying to stand up, was lay there and marvel over the fact he had just completed his first ever combat jump. He was now, officially, an honest to god, paratrooper. Holy shit.

Moss' head shot up as he heard something hissing near him. He frantically looked around, wondering if he had somehow landed on a snake, but the hissing disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Still, the hissing remind him of where he was, and Moss hastily prepared himself for a fight.

Slapping a button on his chest, Moss ripped his oxygen mask off his face before rapidly undoing the equipment he had strapped to his lower abdomen and upper thighs as his parachute automatically began to repack itself. As soon as the parachute was stowed, he unstrapped it and his oxygen tank from his back and tossed both of them to the side, replacing them with his assault pack. Standing up in a crouch, Moss threw his battle belt around his waist and secured it, before grabbing his M739 SAW.

Hefting his weapon, Moss casted around, looking for the navpoint Tanner was supposed to drop so the entire squad could know where to rally. There was only one problem: there was no navpoint to be found.

Involuntarily, Moss felt the cold fingers of fear gripping his heart and he tried his best to remain calm. Tanner was just a bit delayed, that was all, Moss tried to reassure himself. He would be dropping the navpoint any second now. Yep. Any second now.

The minutes ticked by and no navpoint appeared. The trickles of doubt began to filter into Moss' head. Maybe something had gone wrong. Maybe Moss had landed in the wrong place. Maybe everyone else had been killed and Moss was all alone. Maybe Moss had been killed and he was all alone.

No wait, that couldn't be right. He had definitely seen open chutes reaching the ground.

But if that was the case, then where the hell was everybody? Another advantage of HALO jumps versus static line jumps was that the less time paratroopers spent drifting in mid-air allowed for soldiers to land in closer proximity together, allowing for faster consolidation times. In training, Moss usually had landed no further than five meters away from his squadmates, which wasn't far at all.

However, Moss was beginning to realize that on the battlefield, between the fog of war, the uncertainty as a result of being on an active battlefield for the first time his in life, as well as the fear for not only his life but that of his friends, five meters might as well be five hundred meters. Looking at the woods that surrounded him, Moss was struck by the awareness of how very alone he was right now.

After a few minutes of uncertainty, Moss finally decided he just couldn't sit here, cowering. He had to get up and go find someone. But before he could go anywhere, Moss suddenly hear something moving behind him and he whirled around, ready to unload half a magazine into whatever was trying to sneak up on him.

"Viking!"

"War Dog!" Moss automatically replied when he heard the operation's current challenge word.

"Odin," the other person responded with and Moss couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief when Poblede stepped out from the shadows.

"Moss? That you?" she asked, sounding a bit uncertain.

"Yeah Piper, it's me," Moss declared, lowering his SAW.

"Oh thank god," he heard her mutter and he noticed her holstering her M6G pistol before she shouldered her grenade launcher. More loudly she said, "Man, I was beginning to think I was the only idiot to make it to the ground. Hey, is your radio working? I can't seem to reach anybody."

Moss started, then felt like smacking himself. He didn't even _think_ about his radio. Grabbing it quickly, he made sure it was on before looking it over. It was like Poblede said: the radio waves were quiet and no one seemed to be talking.

Curious, Moss boosted the volume to maximum, then blew into his mic. He couldn't hear a thing over his headset, not even static.

"I think the network is down," Moss announced.

"What the fuck. We've dropped into Covie territory and our radios don't even work? That's fucked up man," Poblede complained.

"Forget about that for the moment. You see Tanner's navpoint anywhere?" Moss nervously asked.

Through his night vision goggles, Moss could see Poblede shaking her head.

"Man, what the fuck is going on?" Poblede asked out loud.

There was a rustling of leaves from behind them and both Moss and Poblede instantly whirled around, weapons raised. Moss glanced at Poblede and she gave a small nod.

"Viking!" Moss whispered in a loud voice.

When no one replied, he repeated, "Viking! Viking, or we will shoot you!"

"Dude," came the reply. "Chill out. It's just me, Fish."

A figure emerged from a nearby bush, and Moss quickly identified him as Private First Class Julian Perez, or Fish as everyone called him (why, Moss had no idea; Perez didn't look anything like a fish.) He walked out, cradling his DMR in his arms, an almost bored expression on his face.

"Dude," he commented as Moss and Poblede lowered their weapons, "you guys are wired fucking tight. You need to calm the fuck down."

"And you need to give us the fucking password when we challenge you like that," Poblede snapped. "We almost blew your fucking head off."

"Well, I forgot what the password was," Fish replied with a shrug. "Besides, can't you see my IFF tags?"

"And didn't you hear anything Lancelot told us during our pre-deployment training?" Poblede retorted. "Covies can fake that shit. Can't always trust them. That's why we got this entire countersign system going on, dumbass."

Fish shrugged again and Poblede turned away, muttering something about "fucking druggies."

"Fish, what the fuck are you doing here?" Moss anxiously asked. As glad as he was to see another familiar face, Fish was part of 1st Squad, not 2nd, and their drop zone was supposed to be about a hundred meters away.

"My chute got cut up by shrapnel on the way down," Fish explained. "Had to use my reserve. Must have floated away from the DZ. Guess I'm stuck with you guys for now." He glanced around. "Where is the rest of 2nd Squad anyways?"

"That's what we're trying to figure out now," Moss admitted. "Radios are fucked and Tanner still hasn't dropped his navpoint, so we don't know where the rally is."

"So you guys were just planning on sitting here all night?" Fish asked, and Moss could almost hear the derision in his voice.

"Fuck you Fish, you're the one distracting us," Poblede snapped.

"Viking!"

"War Dog," Moss instinctively replied as he whirled around and almost sagged with relief as he saw Ferguson emerging from the undergrowth, with Noelle and Vox in tow.

"Moss, Poblede... Fish? What the _hell_ are you doing here?" Ferguson asked, confusion coloring his voice. "You know what? Never mind, it doesn't matter. Any of you guys got eyes on Tanner?"

"Saw him on the way down Sarnt," Poblede offered. "Lost sight of him after that bomb went off though."

Moss nodded in agreement. That pretty much matched his experience.

"Shit. He still hasn't dropped his rally and the radios are fucked," Ferguson swore.

"Hey, where's Shin, Kellogg, and the Mole?" Poblede asked, looking over his shoulder.

"Sent them to go retrieve our heavy weapons," Ferguson reported. "Listen, we can't stay here we... were these spikes here when you landed?"

Moss jerked at the unexpected change of topic and glanced at the spot Ferguson was pointing at. There, sticking out of the ground less than a meter away from where Moss had landed, were two metal spikes sticking out from the ground.

"I'm not sure," Moss slowly began. "Why?"

"Because those are rounds from a Covenant Brute Spiker," Ferguson grimly reported.

Moss opened his mouth to reply but then -

 _HISS HISS!_

"CONTACT!" Ferguson bellowed. "Spread out and find cover, we're taking fire!"

Moss swore as he dove behind the nearest tree where he was joined by Poblede and Fish. So that's what that noise was.

"Anyone got eyes on?" Ferguson bellowed.

"I think I got something Sarnt!" Vox called out. "Heat sig, one forty degrees southeast, maybe three hundred meters away, about halfway up that hill!

Moss could see Ferguson poke his head up. "Yeah, that's them! 2nd Squad, you're cleared to engage! Light them the fuck up!"

Moss leveled his SAW but hesitated. He couldn't see the spot Ferguson and Vox were talking about, even when he switched over to thermals, and he was a bit reluctant to just start firing wildly into the woods.

"Moss, fire your weapon!" Ferguson barked. "The second wave is scheduled to arrive soon, we got to take these guys out before they can zero artillery in on our drop zone!"

Moss flicked his safety off. Pointing his machine gun in the direction Vox had indicated, he pulled the trigger and let his weapon rip.

 _RATATATA! RATATATA!_

All around him, the rest of 2nd Squad had opened up and were now peppering the hillside with gunfire. Moss glanced around to make sure he was at least shooting in the same direction before pulling the trigger again.

 _RATATATA! RATATATA!_

"Hey!" he heard Poblede screaming at him. "What the fuck are we shooting at?"

"I have no idea!" Moss admitted, before firing another burst. He could hear Poblede swearing before she too started launching grenades from her M319 grenade launcher at the hill.

"Fish, give me your rifle. Moss! What's your tracer loadout?" Ferguson asked.

"1 in 5 Sergeant!" Moss bellowed back, even as he fired another burst.

"Hey! You're shooting too low! Bring it up about nine centimeters!" Ferguson demanded as he watched the fall of the rounds through the scope on Fish's DMR, and Moss quickly adjusted.

"Bring it right about three centimeters!"

Moss fired another burst.

"There! Poblede, Vox! Set your leaf sights for three hundred and fifty meters and I want you to drop two HEs a piece on that spot Moss is suppressing! Private, keep shooting!"

Moss continued to fire quick bursts at the area Ferguson indicated. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Poblede rise up, fire a grenade, reload, then fire another one.

"Rounds complete!" Moss yelled, his SAW falling silent as the grenades began impacting the hill. About half a second later, they heard the grenades going off.

 _BOOMBOOM! BOOMBOOM!_

Ripping out his empty drum, Moss pulled out a fresh magazine and quickly reloaded as the entire firing line fell silent. Just for good measure, he also quickly swapped barrels so he could let that one cool down.

For the next few seconds, there was complete silence.

"Did we get 'em?" he heard Noelle ask.

 _ **CRACK - FWOOZFWOOZFWOOZHISSCRACKHISSFWOOZKAPOPFWOOZCRACKKABOOM!**_

Moss dove for the ground as the entire area around him was lit up with Covenant counter-fire. Plasma bolts, Spiker rounds, Needler projectiles and concussion blast rocked the area as it felt like every single Covenant on the colony had started shooting at them. This time Moss needed no prompting: yanking back on the charging handle, Moss began unloading into the hillside.

 _RATATATATATAT!_

 _ **FWOOZFWOOZFWOOZCRACKHISSKABOOMPSHHH!**_

"Oh we're in the shit now boys!" Moss heard Vox screaming.

"Get some motherfuckers!" Fish challenged over his head, Ferguson's assault rifle in his arms blazing away. "You want some of this? I got enough for all of you!"

In the background, Moss could hear Ferguson reciting into the radio, "Sherman 1-2 to all UNSC call signs on this net, we have been engage! Enemy contact at grid whiskey whiskey tango three five niner, about three hundred and fifty meters southeast of drop zone Delta! Any unit, please respond!"

All the while, Covenant fire continued to pour it on.

 _ **FWOOZFWOOZFWOOZPSHBOOM!**_

There was a mute _click_ , barely audible over the thunder of gunfire, and Moss' SAW fell silent.

"Loading!" Moss screamed in warning even as he ripped the empty drum mag out.

Reaching down to his belt, instead of grabbing another magazine, Moss instead pulled out a hundred and forty-four round belt. The belts were supposed to be used to reload the drum mags as the heavy weight of the ammo could potentially damage the SAW's belt feed pawl and slide, but in the face of so much incoming plasma fire, it was a risk he was willing to take.

"I want fire superiority!" Ferguson yelled. "Pour it on them! Shin, where the **fuck** are my heavy weapons?!"

Moss continued to fire. No longer concerned about being accurate, he held down the trigger, spraying the hillside with indiscriminate gunfire. His SAW unexpectedly jammed, but he quickly yanked back on the charging handle and his weapon was back in action.

"Moss, I need a pistol mag!" Poblede screamed into his ear.

"Fuck!" Moss twisted to the side and grabbed one of his twelve round pistol magazines he had stashed on his right thigh. "Here! Take this fucking thing!"

She ripped the magazine out of hands and Moss jumped back onto his SAW.

 _RATATATAT-CLICK!_

"Re-LOADING!" Moss bellowed as he frantically pulled out another drum magazine and awkwardly shoved into the magwell. His hands were shaking so much, either because of fear or adrenaline he couldn't tell, it took him a few tries but he managed to make it.

"Son of a bitch, son of a bitch!" someone was screaming.

"Reloading!"

"I'm up!" Moss hollered and started firing again. Covenant fire had yet to let up and in fact, seemed to be gaining in intensity.

Something heavy landed on the ground next to Moss and he started to freak, thinking someone had just gotten hit, but it was only Stohl with two of the squad's allocated M76 SRAAWs strapped to his back, and a musette bag full of extra ammo.

"Moss, Stohl, starting taking guns! Stohl, you first!" Shin ordered from above them.

Moss eased up on the trigger as Stohl fired an extended burst from his SAW.

"Moss, go!"

Hefting his SAW, Moss fired a fifteen round burst at the hill.

"Now you Stohl!"

"One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi!" Moss counted under his breath as Stohl fired. "Four!"

Moss opened up at the same time Stohl let up. Brass casings and metal links began piling up on the ground as Moss fired another thirteen round burst before easing up.

"Go Stohl! That's it, you guys got it! Keep up the pressure!"

"Shin!" Moss heard Ferguson scream from somewhere to his left. "Shin and Patel! Fire rockets!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Moss could see Shin bend over and hastily undo the strap then yank one of the SRAAWs off Stohl's back.

"Backblast area clear!" Shin yelled at the top of her lungs. "Rocket!"

Moss had just enough time to relax his jaw and slap his free hand over his right ear before Shin fired. Even then, the concussive force hit him like a punch to the face and as Shin tossed away the smoking tube, he felt warm liquid dripping down his face and he realized the force of the backblast had cause his nose to start to bleed. With the stock of his machine gun getting wet and sticky, Moss continued to fire until he ran out of ammunition.

"Reloading!" Moss warned. "Mole, COVER!"

Stohl didn't say a word but Moss could hear him pick up his rate of fire.

Reaching down, Moss grabbed another drum mag and quickly did an ammo count. He had four drum mags as well as another hundred and forty four round belt left. In training, that would have been more than enough ammo for his purposes but out here, with Covenant fire seemingly increasing in intensity by the second, Moss was worried he was going to run out soon.

His radio unexpectedly popped and hissed.

 _"Rat Dog to any UNSC call sign within the vicinity of drop zone Delta, we are standing by to provide fire support. How copy, over?"_

Moss felt his heart skip a beat. Rat Dog was their fighter escort. Finally.

 _"Rat Dog this is Hammerhead Actual!"_ another voice joined the radio, and Moss recognized it and the call sign as belonging to one of the infantry company commanders. Rabinowitz from Quebec Company, if he remembered correctly. Nice of the infantry to finally join the fight. _"I've got enemy contacts dug in on Hill 60, about three hundred and fifty meters directly southeast of the DZ. They got eyes and guns zeroed in on our position. Request you drop two, two hundred kilo PGMs on their heads to flush them out, then gun runs to finish them off!"_

The radio abruptly went silent and for a moment, Moss was afraid Rabinowitz had gotten hit, but then his voice quickly sounded over the radio again.

 _" - ay again, come in from the north, we will be lazing the target, over!_

 _"Hammerhead, Rat Dog. Enemy targets dug in on Hill 60, three hundred and fifty meters due southeast of the DZ. Requesting two, two hundred kilo PGMs, followed by strafing runs. Target will be lazed. Attack direction north, are we cleared to engage, over?"_

 _"Copy that Rat Dog! You're cleared hot, over!"_

 _"Copy. Time to target, thirty seconds."_

"Laze the target!" Ferguson yelled as soon as the radio went silent. "The whirlwind is coming! Shin! Laze the target!"

Through his night vision goggles, Moss could see a few lasers abruptly appear in the sky, pointing directly at the spot in the hill they were shooting at. Infrared lasers were always a bit dangerous to use; while they were completely invisible to the naked eye, the Covenant had technology that could detect them and trace them right back to the source. However, given that the Covenant already knew where they were, a laser was the safest way for the Air Force to conduct a bombing run, especially given how close they were to the target.

Moss opened up with everything he had, trying to make sure the Covenant couldn't run. He couldn't see the jet as it was flying about twelve klicks above ground level, but he could hear the rumble of its engines as it made its final approach.

 _"Hammerhead, Rat Dog. Target locked: bombs away bombs away bombs away."_

"INCOMING!"

Moss ducked his head as the roar of the jet reached a crescendo, before it started to fade away. His attention, however, was focused more on the _WHOOSH_ of the incoming bombs before his hearing protection sealed as they hit.

 _ **KAAAABOOOOMMM!**_

It felt like the colony was about to split into two, the bombs detonating microseconds one after another. Moss glanced up to see the entire hillside was washed away by a giant wave of dirt and dust as the collective four hundred kilograms worth of high explosives caused the entire face of the hill to disintegrate. And as if that wasn't enough -

 _"Guns guns guns."_

 _ **BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTTTTT!**_

Sounding as God herself had just let out one massive fart, the remains of the hill were peppered with nearly a thousand rounds of tungsten core, armor piercing incendiary 30mm autocannon shells. The shriek of a jet engine quickly faded away as the Shortswords shot passed, leaving only the sound of machine gun fire in its wake.

"Cease fire, cease fire!" Ferguson yelled out loud, even as over the radio Rabinowitz reported, _"Rat Dog, Hammerhead. Target destroyed, over."_

Moss eased up on the trigger and pulled himself into a sitting position. There were a number of things he should have been doing right now. He should have been reloading in case more Covenant attacked. He should have swapped out his barrel so he didn't accidentally burn it out in the first hour of the operation. But Moss didn't do any of those things. All he could do was just sit there, shocked by the intensity of what he'd just been through.

"Fucking A man," Moss heard Fish announce. "Now that's a fucking firefight."

"Shit," Stohl complained from the ground next to Moss. "Fuck! I think I pissed myself!"

Someone laughed, and normally Moss would have done the same, but he found himself trembling a bit too much for him to do that. Realizing he was thirsty, Moss grabbed the drinking tube to his hydration pack and began sucking down water.

Someone patted his shoulder.

"You good man?" Poblede asked, looking slightly pale yet exhilarated at the same time. Moss nodded.

"Dude," she marveled as she pulled out a pack of chewing gum and ripped it open. "We just won our first fucking firefight."

Moss took a moment to consider that, then realized she was right.

"No kidding," he said as he popped the drinking tube out of his mouth.

"Well, let's hope that's only the first of many victories," Poblede commented, lifting her pack of gum.

Moss reached out and tapped his drinking tube against her gum, as if they were toasting. "Hear hear."

"2nd Squad! Give me an ammo count!"

Moss groaned, then put away his drinking tube so he could begin counting rounds.

The first of many.


	21. One-Shot: Toilet Talks

As promised, here is my second one-shot. Like my first one, I wrote this in-between chapters for _Missing in Action_ , though which ones I couldn't tell you as I didn't record it and I can't remember which ones they were.

The goal of this one-shot is this: one of the things I didn't quite like about _Missing in Action_ was that although my main characters are all combat engineers (or sappers, if you prefer that term,) it's a little hard to tell because they spend most of the story doing infantry task. I probably should have just made them infantrymen, but I was going off my original outline where I had made them all combat engineers because I wanted to show an aspect of the Army that I feel we don't really see too much in war films or games.

As it turns out, there's actually a very good reason why so many war films, video games, and stories focus primarily on the infantry: because their sole job is to engage the enemy head-on, it makes for a far more interesting and exciting story than one that's focused on someone setting up communication uplinks or delivering ammo to the frontlines, something I kind of discovered (rediscovered really) when writing this one-shot. Don't get me wrong, it is doable, and I don't want to imply that support troops are not essentially because they don't see action against the enemy (which they can and do, especially in today's battlefields where the traditional frontline doesn't really exist anymore,) I'm just not sure I'm the one to do it. Still, I hope this one-shot does prove to be somewhat interesting, even if I don't feel I actually accomplished my goal to the degree I would have liked.

Just to mix things up a bit, I also tried to show that life on the frontlines wouldn't be all that fun. That's not to say any war film or video game or story depicts the frontlines as being _fun_ , it's just that for me personally, when I'm sitting at home in my living room watching something like _71: Into the Fire_ or _The 9th Company_ with an ice cold soda in one hand and a bag of chips in the other, it's real easy for me to get caught up in the spectacle of the battles being depicted on screen and forget just how much it would _**suck**_ to be one of those guys. I mean, even ignoring the idea of people trying to kill me, just the idea of having to live in a hole in the ground for months upon end without the comforts I've grown accustomed to (like air conditioning, warm showers, three meals a day, etc.) would be bad enough.

That being said, I debated whether or not I should have been a bit more graphic in my descriptions of the injuries, but the story was becoming a bit long as it were, and I think I got my point across with what I have now.

* * *

 **Toilet Talks**

Summary _: Battlefields are not pretty places. They are nasty, unsightly, unsanitary, disgusting places. If the enemy doesn't get you, the diseases will. So in other words, it's just another day on the front line for Corporal Moss Shen and his merry squad of combat engineers!_

* * *

 **Tien Giang Forest, Osaka Prefecture, Newsaka  
** **April 3, 2545, SMC  
** **1023J**

Moss let out a loud sigh of relief as he eased himself to the ground. Elements of Quebec Company were on perimeter guard duty, his rifle was locked and loaded and ready to go, and he was currently sitting between the roots of a large tree, mostly hiding him from view. Moss was about as safe as he could have hoped for on this damn planet so he allowed himself to relax just a bit. He removed his helmet and tilted his head back, trying to let the warm rain wash away from the sweat and grime that had been building up, doing his best to avoid falling asleep. He was safe, but not that safe.

So. Day three of Operation Long Patrol. And damn if it didn't feel exactly like Operation Mossflower, only instead of the Covenant attacking them, _they_ were attacking the Covenant. Other than that, they were still dealing with the same fucking forest, the same shitty weather, and all the _fucking mud_. Might as well have called it Operation Mossflower, Part II. Save an operation name.

Moss snorted. Mossflower. Long Patrol. Whoever had named these fucking operations had clearly been a fan of the Redwall films. He was honestly a little surprised there wasn't an Operation Salamandastron or an Operation Eulalia going on right now.

 _RATATATA!_

Moss abruptly sat up and threw his helmet back on as the sound of machine gun fire echoed in the distance, disappearing as quickly as it had begun. He remained tense, rifle in hand, until he heard the report over the radio: no enemy contact, just a simple negligent discharge.

Shaking his head in disgust, Moss forced himself to stand down, even though he couldn't convince himself to relinquish his death grip he had on his rifle. Fuck. Negligent discharges were becoming more and more common. It was hardly surprising; even though the 222nd Airborne Division had only been on this planet for about a little over a standard month, it had been pretty much non-stop combat since they got here. Non-stop attacks from fanatical aliens whose sole desire was to die with their hands wrapped around a human neck. Non-stop artillery barrages and airstrikes. Raging Brutes and suicidal Grunts. Even the fucking weather seemed to be totally against them. It had started raining about two weeks after they arrived, a full month before the rainy season was supposed to have begun, and it hadn't stopped since. So, between all the fighting and the mud and the rain and this _fucking_ forest, people were getting pushed to the breaking point. They were tired, hungry, and just plain stressed out.

Moss froze when he heard the _snap_ of a branch breaking nearby, and he quickly enlarged his HUD to make sure the perimeter guards were still in place. They were, so Moss tried to relax.

Now that wasn't helping matters. All these fucking replacements they were getting. At first it hadn't been too bad: they had at least been getting replacements with combat arms MOSs to replace the combat vets they'd been losing. The replacements were inexperienced, but at least they had combat training. Then the division had started getting replacements from the rear echelon support units. Okay, annoying, but at least they were paratroopers. Now? Some of these replacements, Moss was sure the UNSC had plucked them off the street, handed them a uniform, and shipped them here, as stupid as some of them were. Half the time Moss wasn't even able to do his job because he was too busy making sure his FNGs didn't accidently blow off their own fucking heads! It was stressful and frankly, exhausting. Moss hated to say it, but he really wish Pip had stayed.

Pip was down with some sort of foot ailment. Tropical immersion foot is what the doctors called it. Apparently, that was what happened when a foot was soaked in warm water for weeks upon end. End result was Pip's feet had ended up getting covered with a ton of bloody blisters on the soles of her feet, making it very painful for her to walk. It was almost unbelievable. Pip had been here for over a month and somehow had managed to avoid getting wounded despite all the plasma, shrapnel, bullets, and concussive forces flying around, but then it was the weather that took her down for the count.

Fucking forest.

At any case, Pip had been evacuated to the rear for medical treatment. With modern medicine, it had been an easy fix, but Pip had nevertheless been ordered to stay there for a couple of days so she could recover in peace. And while Moss had of course wanted her in tiptop shape, and that he knew the time she spent in recovery would give her the break she desperately need, Moss kind of wished she had sucked it up and stayed on the line. Without her, Moss kind of felt like a blind man without his guide dog… wait, did he just compare Pip to a dog? Oooh boy, he _really_ was tired, wasn't he?

Anyway, the point was, why, how, or when that happen, Moss couldn't say for certain. He just knew that at some point within the last month, Pip had become the one person he relied on the most. It was like... she was the missing puzzle piece in his life he hadn't even realize he had lost. They worked extremely well together; it was almost as if they could read each other's minds. Half the time, Moss could just turn to her and without saying a word, she would already know what he was thinking. That kind of trust didn't come easy.

However, Pip was gone, at least temporarily, meaning Moss had to learn how to rely on everyone else. It wouldn't have been so bad because, while not as close as he was with Pip, Moss had a good working relationship with every single soldier who had been with them on Skopje before they had deployed. But unfortunately, even they were in short supply.

No one had seen Tanner since they got here. Stohl the Mole had taken a Spike Grenade to the face. Vox had been shot through the chest. Noelle had gone crazy. Lieutenant Steiner... well, no one liked to talk about him. Say what you wanted about Smelly Noelle-y, but at least when she went crazy, she had the courtesy to _not_ open up on a work party with a fucking machine gun. 3rd Squad never felt the same after that.

As more and more Skopje troopers became casualties, they had been steady replaced. The replacements were a mixed bag. Some of them worked out, but all too often they didn't. Take the new guys in his squad as an example.

He glanced over to where their four surviving replacements were busy constructing a fighting pit (for one of the infantry battalion headquarter companies slated to take over this sector in a couple hours from now,) several meters away from where he was sitting.

First there was Specialist Lisbeth Norén. She had joined the squad something like two weeks ago, and out of all the replacements Moss had met, she showed the most promise, by far. She moved, acted, and performed like a seasoned veteran. She was extremely competent, performing her job with a higher degree of skill then even Moss had. Which made sense. From what Moss had heard, Norén was a former Innie (or rather Separatist; that the politically correct term nowadays, wasn't it?)

Now, Private First Class Bashir had potential. He had joined about the same time Norén had, and proven to also be fairly competent. However, for someone who had been a Quartermaster before getting reassigned to the front lines, he was surprisingly aggressive. Aggression was good and all, however Bashir was aggressive to the point of recklessness, which was a problem. Moss was concerned that if he didn't change his ways, and soon, that recklessness was going to get him killed.

Then there was their third replacement, Private... Petersen? Or Pedersen. It was one of the two, Moss just couldn't remember which. He had joined about three days ago and Moss knew, just knew, he was going to be nothing more than cannon fodder. Moss couldn't pinned down exactly what made him feel that way, but whatever the case was, Moss had done his best to avoid the kid. It wasn't that hard: Peter/Pedersen was part of Alpha Team, making him Shin's problem, not Moss'.

Finally, there was the last replacement. He had joined a day after Petersen had and Moss hadn't quite learned his name yet. Moss knew it started with a "G," and it always made Moss think of Medieval England. What was it...Godfrey? No, Goodwin. No wait, it was... Griffin! That's what it was, Griffin.

Griffin... was a bit of a mystery. Moss still couldn't figure out if the kid was absolutely bat-shit crazy, or just a fucking moron. He seemed pleasant enough, but the one thing that really stood out to Moss was that Griffin was one of the most carefree person Moss had ever met. A bit like Fish from 1st Squad, but whereas Fish seemed like he was carefree as the result of heavy drug use, Griffin always struck Moss as being carefree because he _didn't care._ About anything. Nothing seemed to faze him. Upon seeing the amount of mud and rain they were dealing with, most replacements (and even some veterans) showed signs of distaste or annoyance, but Griffin had taken it in stride. Upon eating their first meal in the field, most replacements reacted with disgust, but Griffin had gobbled it down as if it was the best meal he had ever eaten.

Even when confronted with the enemy, Griffin hadn't seen too bothered. As part of their initiation, Ferguson always insisted on giving the replacements a quick rundown of all the Covenant races they could expect to encounter in the field, what they like to do, then give them a couple of tips on how to counter them. Most replacements left that meeting with a bit of fear or apprehension in their body language, but not Griffin. He had left that meeting with the same bemused expression on his face when had first arrived, making Moss wonder if Griffin was really that fearless, or he just didn't comprehend how vicious the Covenant could be.

A rustling noise sounded from the bushes to Moss' right, but he didn't react to the movement. He knew who it was.

"You have a good shit there Kellogg?" Moss asked as Kellogg came stumbling out of the bushes, looking a bit pale.

"For now," Kellogg said, sounded miserable. "I think I just shit half my body weight back there, so I should be good for a little bit. Hey, thanks for letting me use your baby wipes."

He handed a small container back to Moss who took it and immediately stashed inside his chest armor to try and keep it dry and safe.

"No problem," Moss commented, even though in truth, it kind of was. Baby wipes were a luxury out here, and Moss had been saving them for Pip. Normally he won't have given them away like that, but Kellogg had been suffering from a mild case of dysentery for the last few days and Moss had learned the hard way that some of the leaves out here, you did not want to use as toilet paper; his asshole still burned every now and then when he took a dump. Plus, Kellogg was a Skopje man, so Moss kind of figured Kellogg had earned the right to receive a bit better treatment than some of the other guys.

It was actually kind of funny: for the longest time Moss just couldn't get along with Kellogg, mostly because Kellogg always seemed to go out of his way to try and antagonize him. It wasn't until much later did Moss learn that Kellogg had a massive crush on Pip, and that the reason he acted with so much hostility towards Moss was because he had been jealous of their close relationship. Once he had gotten over his crush though, Kellogg had actually turned out to be a rather pleasant guy.

Kellogg plopped down on the ground next to Moss, and Moss immediately pulled out the spare bottle of water he had with him.

"Doc Westley says you got to keep hydrated," Moss told him. "So, drink up. That's an order."

"You're not going to hear any arguments from me Corporal," Kellogg commented as he took the bottle and took a swig. "Hey, thanks for coming out here and checking up on me."

Moss snorted. "It's not like I was going to let you walk around by yourself, even if you were just going to take a shit. That's too fucking dangerous."

Kellogg, in the midst of downing the contents of the water bottle, inclined his head in acknowledgement. Even though they were about a hundred meters away from the actual front line, it was still very dangerous to be wandering around alone. Despite the beating they had received last month, the Covenant hadn't been willing to give up on the offensive, so they had been constantly trying to sneak teams through the lines, probing for weaknesses. The teams were rarely larger than a single Lance; but even then, a single Brute warrior was more than capable of taking out an entire infantry squad by himself. Maybe a platoon, if they were lucky.

"Plus, I needed the break," Moss added, which was true. With Ferguson down due to some sort of ringworm infection, Moss was getting pushed to the limit, trying to do Ferguson's job on top of everything else he had to do.

"Yeah," Kellogg agreed as he tossed the empty bottle aside and pulled out a small can of chewing tobacco from his pocket. "You look deep in thought. What's up?" He popped open the can, then let out a depressed sigh when he realized the can was empty.

Rolling his eyes, Moss reached into his back pocket and toss Kellogg the fresh can he had stashed there.

"Thanks," Kellogg said with surprise. "Since when do you dip?"

"I don't. I took it off Vox when he was getting medevac'd; it's not like the hospital lets you guys chew. Was saving it so I could buy these jungle boots off one of the Legs, but Pip bullied him into selling it to me at half price. Now I've got a bunch of shit I don't use. I figured I'd be a good team leader and save it for you guys when you fuckers ran out," Moss explained.

"My hero," Kellogg sincerely announced. "Anyway, like I said, you look deep in thought. Anything you want to share?" He spat to the side as he waited for a response.

Moss shook his head. "Just thinking about our replacements, and what we can do to try and improve their chances."

Kellogg snorted. "Don't waste your time boss. Its sink or swim out here: they either make it, or they don't. We all got thrown into the deep end. Now it's their turn."

"Yeah, but at the very least we got taught how to swim before we were tossed into the ocean," Moss argued. "Some of these guys didn't even get that."

"Yeah? Well, then, that's the Army's problem. Not ours. Our problem is to make sure _we_ get out alive."

Moss glared at him. "You were never one to be sympathetic, were you?"

Kellogg shrugged, unconcerned. "No room for that shit out here."

Moss shook head. "Fine then. I need someone I can at least trust enough to watch my back, least until Pip gets back."

"Okay, _that_ makes more sense," Kellogg noted, before he hesitated. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

Moss jerked his head.

"When the fuck did you start calling Piper 'Pip?' And why the fuck does she even let you? I tried that once when we were back in garrison and she pulled a _fucking_ knife on me man."

Moss couldn't help but let out a chuckle at the memory. "It was only a butter knife. Plus, the expression on your face? Fucking hilarious."

Kellogg let out an appreciative laugh. "Yeah, I'm sure it was. Fucking, nearly pissed my pants that day. But you didn't answer my question."

Moss half-shrugged. "Honestly? I didn't know when it began. It just... happened. As to why she lets me, well, when you figure out the mysteries of a woman's mind, let me know, will you?"

Kellogg laughed. "Fair enough. Hey, can I ask you something else?"

Moss inclined his head. "Why stop now?"

"Are you two fucking?"

Moss choked, having not expected that question. "What? No!" he sputtered, then paused. "Are you asking me that because you're still hung up on her?"

"Nah man, all that was just cause my dick was doing the thinking. No, I was just curious cause uh, while I'm cool with it, the Army might not, with you being in charge over her and all. And you're like, the best team leader I ever had, so I hate to lose you to some bullshit like that."

"I'm pretty much the _only_ team leader you ever had," Moss muttered to himself before sighing. "Fair enough. No, we aren't fucking. Besides," he added, "you know she's married, right?"

Kellogg stared at him like he was an idiot. "So what?" he said. "He's not here; you are."

Moss shook his head but then froze. The wind had shifted in his direction, bring the smell of wet dog along with it.

"CONTACT!" Moss screamed, shoving Kellogg over before throwing himself backwards.

The Brute Shot grenade whizzed through the open space between them and slammed into the tree, imbedding itself a good ten centimeters before exploding, throwing chunks of wet wood in all directions. The tree itself let out a loud groan before toppling over sideways, and Moss quickly scrambled for safety behind his new cover.

"Kellogg! Sound off!" he screamed.

"I'm green!" Kellogg reported from beside him.

Moss flinched as another Brute Shot tore a huge chuck out of the tree as it skimmed the top of the trunk and exploded somewhere behind. "Fuck! 1-2 Bravo to 1-2 Actual, we have been engaged at grid delta hotel one one seven four, half a klick north of checkpoint four. Current enemy strength unknown, have been engaged by at least one Lance, break! Carburetor 1-2 to Pixie Dust, fire support WARNO incoming! How copy, over!"

All Moss heard was static.

"Shit," Moss spat out as he checked over his radio. It wasn't getting jammed, he could tell that much, and everything was on and connected, he just couldn't reach anyone. He couldn't say why; it could have been something simple, like someone from battalion changing the encryption codes without telling anyone (sadly, a rather common occurrence,) or something more complex like sun flares disrupting the network or some shit like that. Whatever the case was, Moss and his squad were on their own for now.

"Moss, we're too exposed here!" Kellogg warned as Moss put his radio away. "Got too many ways to get outflanked!"

"I know! We'll take out the heavy weapon, then fall back to the gun-pit! On my mark!"

Moss waited until the Brute sounded like he was reloading. Plasma and Spiker fire was raining in, but he wasn't as concerned about that as he was with the Brute Shot. "Mark! Covering fire!"

Both Kellogg and Moss rose up. The Brute was maybe fifty meters away, crouched in the mud, reloading. With his dark brown fur, he blended in with the ground rather well, and Moss almost missed him except he had some sort of bright green fungus growing in his fur, revealing his position. Kellogg immediately laid into the trigger of his SAW and Moss tried to follow suit, but his rifle fired one-shot and then stopped entirely.

"Jam. Jam!" Moss screamed, ducking back down as he yanked back on the charging handle. Nothing ejected so he pulled it back to look inside the chamber. Nothing was feeding from the magazine and he checked his ammo counter and realized he had a fully loaded, thirty-two round magazine inserted in his rifle.

"Fucking shitty GI mags and their fucking shitty springs!" Moss spat out as he ripped out the magazine and ejected the top couple of rounds. He slammed the mag back in place, racked the bolt, and made ready to fire, but fortunately Kellogg had already taken out the main threat.

"Fall back!"

Moss fired a few more shots before turning around and headed straight for the half-built fighting position his squad had been working on in a crouch-sprint. With Spiker rounds cracking directly over his shoulder, Moss tossed himself into the pit. Inside, Kellogg was already there with Norén and Bashir, laying down suppressive fire on the attacking Covenant. Of Pedersen and Griffin, there was no sign.

"Specialist!" Moss screamed and Norén instantly appeared at his side. "Where's the rest of the team?"

"There's a small depression behind a tree about five meters straight on our left flank Corporal," Norén reported, her voice as calm as ever, though Moss could pick up the barest hint of tension in her voice. "That's where I last saw them."

"Got it! Kellogg!"

Kellogg paused in his firing to glance at him.

"You and Bashir, start talking guns!" Moss ordered. "Keep their heads down! I'm going to grab those two idiots and see if we can't do a wide run around the flank, get in close and take them out with grenades!"

"Copy that! Alright Basher, three second intervals, twelve round burst! Specialist, cover the right!"

As soon as Bashir began firing, Moss scrambled out of the pit and ran full bore towards the spot Norén had indicated. Diving into the depression, Moss landed right on Pedersen, who failed to react to the ninety some kilogram man crashing into him. It quickly became apparent why: the top part of Petersen's head had been ripped open, probably by shrapnel, causing his brains to spill all over the muddy ground. At first, Moss couldn't understand why as the standard CH252 combat helmet was rated to protect the wearer's head from all forms of shrapnel, but then he noticed Pedersen hadn't been wearing it and instead, was holding in his now dead grip. Idiot must have removed his helmet while he'd been sitting out in the open.

Moss casted around, looking for Griffin, and spotted him sitting behind the tree, looking completely unperturbed about the dead body lying on the ground nearby and seemingly unaware of the firefight raging a few meters away. Instead, he was -

"Are you _fucking_ kidding me?" Moss couldn't help but exclaim.

Griffin was sitting there, a spork in one hand and an MRE in the other. He was slowly munching on the MRE like he was sitting in the middle of a five star restaurant instead of in the middle of an active battlefield.

"Griffin!"

"Oh hey, that's my name too!" Griffin cheerful exclaimed, causing Moss to immediately lose his train of thought, thrown off by the non-sequitur. Moss stared at him before an explosion went off a few meters behind him, remind him of what was going on.

"What the fuck are you doing Griffin?" Moss demanded to know.

"Eating," Griffin replied, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. Which, to be fair, kind of was.

"Do you not see the fighting going on?!"

"Oh, it's okay," Griffin blithely announced. "They aren't shooting at us."

"How can you tell?" Moss asked before he could himself.

"A hiss means it's close, a snap means its passing by your head," Griffin explained.

Moss stared at him. He had known that of course, today not being the first day he was fighting Brutes, but Moss had never thought about it in those terms. Of course, that raised the question of how many times had Griffin been shot at to learn that. And why he was getting shot at…

Moss shook himself when he realized he was getting distracted.

"Why aren't you firing your weapon?" Moss demanded to know.

"We can do that?" Griffin asked, sounding genuinely curious.

Moss blinked. "What the fuck do you think you're getting paid for?"

"We get _PAID!?_ "

Moss found he didn't know how to respond to that. "Just... just fire your weapon Private!"

"Okay!"

Griffin carefully put his MRE away and lifted his rifle (he was at least pointing it in the right direction.) There was a mute _click_ , and his magazine promptly fell out.

"Oooohhh, so _that's_ what that button does!" Griffin excitedly exclaimed.

Moss could feel a headache forming.

"Put your magazine back in!" Moss commanded. He lifted his rifle to cover him, and noticed a Grunt advancing through the mud. He quickly shot the alien a couple of times, then glanced back at Griffin. Moss felt like crying when he noticed Griffin was trying to insert the magazine in backwards. "No, dumbass! The pointy ends point forward! How the fuck did you make it through basic!?"

Griffin shrugged, just as an overcharged plasma shot splashed into the ground in front of them, splattering them with mud. Moss couldn't prevent himself from flinching, but he noticed Griffin didn't even so much as twitch.

"Oooohh," Griffin said in awe, sounding like he was a tourist admiring the seventh wonder of the galaxy, not a damn soldier in the middle of the shit. "So that's how it works!"

…Okay, Moss was officially convinced this guy was a fucking idiot.

"Switch the safety off!" Moss order, doing his best to help Griffin while keeping one eye on the battlefield. "That little switch by your thumb! Push down on it, then fire your weapon!"

Moss brought his rifle up to his shoulder, hoping Griffin would follow suit, and was relieved when Griffin began to mimic his actions. Hoping that was the end of it, Moss started to take up the slack on his trigger when Griffin opened up.

 _RATATATATAT!_

Moss hung his head as Griffin, unprepared for the recoil, was completely knocked off his feet and half his burst ended up in the treetops.

"Wow! That was cool!" Griffin cheered. "Was that supposed to happen?"

"No! You set your rifle to full auto! Turn that little knob so it points at the word 'semi!'" Moss could see Griffin's ammo counter flashing red. "You're out of ammo! Reload!"

"Okay!" Griffin paused, and then in the same cheerful voice he added, "How do I do that?"

Moss flexed his fingers. He didn't have time for this right now. "You know what? Don't worry about it right now." Reaching down, he plucked two frag grenades off Petersen's corpse. "Take this and follow me!"

Firing a couple more shots at the Covenant, Moss took off running, hoping Griffin would follow. Dashing from cover to cover, Moss worked his way towards the Covenant position. The Covenant were firing in all directions, but they were now receiving return fire from two different directions, indicating more paratroopers were responding to the firefight, so the Covenant didn't notice him advancing. Moss ran up until he was about thirty meters away before leaping into an old impact crater nearby. He was slightly out grenade range, but any closer and he ran into the risk of getting shot by his own guys.

The splashing of mud heralded Griffin's arrival, and he quickly tossed himself to the ground beside Moss.

"You know how to throw a hand grenade?" Moss asked as he pulled one out. Without waiting for a response, he began explaining. "You remove this clip then flick this red lever up to arm the grenade. Lift your non-throwing arm like this so you can use it as an aiming point. Heave back, throw!"

With a grunt, Moss hurtled the grenade as hard as he could while yelling "FRAG OUT!"

It wasn't his best throw, but it landed close enough to the Covenant position so he wasn't worried. He noticed Griffin poking his head up to see the effect, and Moss quickly grabbed him and pulled him down.

"GET DOWN!" Moss yelled as the grenade went off. He could hearing the whizzing as shrapnel flew by overhead. "Always get down as soon as you throw the grenade to avoid getting hit!"

Moss could still hear the Covenant firing, so he pulled out another. "Watch me again Griffin! Remove clip, lever up, arm out, and heave! Frag out!"

The grenade went off again, and while it sounded like the Covenant fire had slowed down, they were still shooting. Moss reached down for another grenade, but he was out. "Griffin! You try it!"

Griffin's eyes lit up and he excitedly pulled out one of his grenades.

"Remove clip, lever up, arm out," Moss heard him mutter. "Heave!"

"Frag out!" Moss reflexively called and watch as the grenade soar through the air -

\- and promptly bounce off the tree in front of them, landing right back in the hole they were standing in.

"Huh," Griffin said.

Moss didn't say a word, he just reacted. With a strength he didn't even know he had, he grabbed Griffin by the front of his vest and hurtled the both of them out of the crater, just as the grenade exploded.

Moss could feel shrapnel pounding his armor as a wave of pressure hit Moss across the body like a punch to the stomach. The air was forced out of his lungs and white noise filled his ears despite his hearing protection, leaving him slightly disoriented. A plasma bolt splashed against the ground next to them, and it took Moss a few seconds to realize they were under fire: out in the open, the Covenant had spotted them and immediately opened up.

Lying on top of Griffin, Moss tried to push him further into the mud for protection as plasma and spiker fire rained down around them. As his hearing protection unsealed, he heard someone laughing and it took him far too long to realize it was Griffin.

There was a huge explosion from somewhere behind him and the Covenant fire suddenly ended. Moss glanced behind him to see that the rest of 2nd Squad, alongside Sergeant Stalgis and 1st Squad, were attacking the Covenant position from the other direction. The Covenant quickly shifted their fire to the new threat, and there was a frantic exchange of gunfire, followed by a couple more explosions, before all Covenant fire abruptly cut out.

Throwing all caution to the wind, Moss carefully picked himself off the ground, then quickly checked himself over for injuries. Aside from a growing headache (which Moss wasn't entirely convinced he could attribute to the grenade,) he somehow managed to escape major injury.

"That was awesome!" Griffin hollered as he picked himself off ground. Something in Moss snapped, and he whirled around on Griffin.

"What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?" he started to say, but then stopped when he noticed the fresh blood dripping down Griffin's face.

Reaching out, Moss grabbed Griffin by the chin and turned his head so he could see the source. A piece of grenade shrapnel was sticking out from his temple, just below the rim of his helmet.

"Griffin, you're hit, you're bleeding," Moss informed him

"Am I?" Griffin asked, sounding completely unconcerned. He reached up to touch his face. "Huh. Guess I am." He shrugged, as if it was no big deal.

"Hang on, don't touch it, I got something to treat that," Moss informed him as he reached for his IFAK. "Whatever you do, don't - "

Griffin promptly ripped the shrapnel out from his skin.

" - do that," Moss finished rather lamely as the blood began to flow freely from the open wound. "God dammit Griffin."

"What?"

Moss shook his head. "Never mind. Let me..."

He trailed off as he realized his IFAK was gone, probably torn off by the grenade. "Fuck." He glanced in the direction of Stalgis and wondered if Westley was with him. "You need a medic. Can you stand?"

Griffin shrugged, then tried to stand up, but promptly fell back down.

"Whoa!" he called out, sounding surprised. "That ain't cool."

Moss glanced down and noticed another piece of shrapnel sticking out from Griffin's left leg. "Damn. Alright," he grabbed Griffin's rifle and handed it to him. "Stay here, I'm going to get a medic."

Moss took off running. Behind him, he heard Griffin cheerfully call out "Okay! Have fun!"

Moss headed over to the hole where the Covenant once were. Stalgis and the rest of 1st Platoon were there, collecting weapons and checking for survivors. As Moss approached, he saw Stalgis rolling a Jackal over with his foot. The Jackal groaned and tried to pick himself up, but Stalgis calmly pulled out his sidearm and shot him once through the forehead.

Stalgis looked up as Moss reached them. "Corporal Shen," he called in greeting. "Status?"

"I need a medic," Moss breathlessly reported. "I got a man down."

"Doc," Stalgis said.

"On it Sergeant," Westley immediately said.

"Fish, go with her."

"He's about thirty meters in that direction. Took some grenade shrapnel to the temple and left leg," Moss reported as the two left. He turned back to Stalgis. "I also got at least one KIA back at my pit."

Stalgis nodded. "We'll deal with it." He turned away to bark out more orders.

"Who'd we lose?"

Moss turned to see Shin walking up to him, smoking a cigarette.

"The new guy from your team," Moss tiredly reported. "What's his face? Petersen? Or Pedersen? I can't remember."

Shin gave him an odd look. "You mean Peyman?"

"That's his name? I thought it was something Scandinavian."

Shin shook her head in mock sadness. "Just cause he's was a blonde hair, blue eye, white motherfucker, it doesn't make him Scandinavian. Racist..." she told him in sing-song voice.

"Fuck you Cyn," Moss muttered. "Give me that."

She took another puff from her cigarette before handing it over to him.

"Finish it," she told him. "I got some more."

Moss nodded and took a deep breath, letting the nicotine help calm his nerves. However, his adrenaline was quickly replaced with anger.

"What the fuck happened? What's with the fucking radios?" Moss demanded to know as he angrily flick the butt away, the rain quickly extinguishing what was left. "And how'd these fucking assholes get through? I thought Quebec Company was watching the perimeter?"

"Radios are fucked because someone in battalion changed the encryption to something apparently no one else has. Fucking REMFs who don't know how to do their jobs properly, so they try to fuck ours," Shin reported with a groan. "As for Quebec Company, the replacements on watch fell asleep. Fuckers paid for that mistake with their lives; fucking Bobos cut all three of their heads off."

Moss groaned. "Who was the fucking idiot who decided to put replacements on guard duty?"

"Some dumbass sergeant named Zanthus or Xanthus or some shit like that."

Moss sighed. Before he could say anything else, Stalgis came waking back up.

"Shin, Shen, how are you fixed for ammo?"

"I've got about a hundred eighty rounds left Sergeant," Moss reported.

"About the same for me," Shin said.

Stalgis nodded. "Good. Get your teams together. Battalion is concerned more than one Lance made it through. We are to sweep and clear this sector."

"Oh come on Sergeant," Moss couldn't help but groan before Shin could. "We're not infantry; how's that our problem?"

Stalgis gave him a disapproving glare.

"It's either this or go with 4th Squad and sweep for enemy mines on the MLR," he declared. "What's it going to be Corporal?"

Moss hesitated. Honestly, both options kind of sucked, however sweeping for mines was significantly more dangerous than looking for enemy infiltrators. And honestly, Moss didn't think his replacements were ready for that shit.

"I'll get my team together," Moss finally said.

Stalgis nodded, then glanced at Shin, who shrugged. He walked away, leaving Shin and Moss standing in the mud.

"Well," Shin said with a sigh. "Once more into the breach, huh?"

Moss shook his head in resignation. It was official. Between the Covenant, the combat patrols, the fighting, all the diseases, fucking REMFs, and dumbass replacements -

\- he was never going to make it out of here alive.


	22. One-Shot: O Romeo

Third of five.

Something completely different this week. I wrote this chapter in an attempt to work on my humor because, well, I'm not really a funny guy. I'm a pretty serious person in real life and as a result, I much prefer writing dramatic and serious stuff. But, what is life if one doesn't branch out every now and then?

This one is a bit shorter than the rest, simply because I didn't have much to write. Story takes place **2 days** before the prologue for Missing in Action.

Hope you guys enjoy.

* * *

 **O Romeo  
** Summary: _An attempt at a little bit of lighthearted flirting goes terribly wrong._

* * *

 **Forward Operating Base Jackalope  
** **Osaka Prefecture, Newsaka  
** **April 18, 2545, SMC  
** **1323J**

Moss was excited.

They had been on Newsaka for nearly two months now. Two months of fighting Covenant, dodging plasma, keeping dry, and trying to stay sane. During those two months, they had spent the entire time eating shitty MREs, tons of canned food, and in general, a bunch of artificial shit. Moss was getting sick and tired of it. How was it they were stuck fighting in the middle of a damn rain forest, a biome famous for its abundance of plant and animal life, and the Army wasn't able to provide them with some fresh food every now and then? Moss was hardly a vegetarian, but _god damn_ , he hadn't eaten a leafy vegetable in the entire time he'd been on this planet, _despite_ being surrounded by a sorts of vegetation. It was, to be honest, somewhat unsettling. But that was about to change.

He'd been wandering around in the staging area, looking for some supplies. He knew in a couple of days, his entire division was going to be thrown back onto the front and there were some critical repairs to his equipment he needed to get done, but naturally the quartermasters and the REMFs has been hoarding all the supplies, so he'd been looking around to see if he could steal some. And that was when he found it.

It was some sort of fruit tree, just growing out of the ground between the officers' tents. What it was doing there and who it belong to, Moss had no idea and quite frankly, didn't care. What he did care about was the fact the tree was covered in large, fresh, juicy pieces of fruit. Mangos, by the looks of it, or at least this world's equivalent of mangos. Whatever they were, the mere sight of them reminded Moss he hadn't had a fresh piece of fruit in the last two months and his mouth immediately filled with saliva. Without thinking, he had dashed over, plucked one right off the tree, and immediately sank his teeth into it.

 **H-o-l-y shit!**

That first bite had to have been the best piece of fruit Moss had ever eaten before. It was sweet, it was juicy, and he could just taste the freshness of it!

Naturally he had gagged immediately afterwards because, _holy shit_ , that thing was sweet and he was totally not used to that sort of thing.

Still, once he'd gotten used to the taste, he had practically inhaled the rest of the fruit. Damn, that was good.

Of course, Moss had immediately plucked another piece off the tree. For the road. And only one. Moss wasn't greedy, you see. But just as he was about to walk away, it suddenly occurred to him that it just be plain selfish of him to not share this treat with the rest of his squad. So, after making sure no one was watching, Moss had gone ahead and plucked another six fresh mangos off the tree. And seeing as how he already had two of them, it only seemed fair to him that his squad also get two pieces of fruit, so Moss had gone ahead and plucked another six pieces. Then, with his loot secured in his arms, Moss had fled like he stole them.

Which, honestly, was exactly what he had done.

Walking across the wooden pallets that had been laid over the mud by the construction engineers when the rainy season began, Moss headed towards the tent his squad had been billeted in, doing his best to not drop any of his loot onto the ground and wishing he had a bag. Reaching the tent, Moss carefully moved all his loot to one arm and began reaching for the tent flap, but before he could open it, the flap was flung open and two figures came rushing out of the tent, one of which almost collided with Moss.

"Hey!" Moss yelled, stumbling back and doing his best to keep his loot intact. "What the... Shin! Watch where you're going! Do you know how hard it was for me to 'acquire' this stuff?" he protested, but Shin wasn't listening. She was too busy yelling at Pip, who was leaving the tent behind her, and for the first time, Moss noticed how furious looking both women looked.

At his shout, both women turned their furious gazes at him and for a moment, Moss panicked, frantically trying to remember exactly what he had done to piss off both them so he could apologized for it, but before he could do anything to embarrass himself, both women relaxed at the sight of him and Moss let out a sigh of relief when he realized they weren't pissed at him, but something else.

"Moss, you better take that motherfucker because if he gets assigned to my fireteam, I swear to god I will fucking kill him," Shin demanded.

Before Moss could ask what the hell she was talking about, Poblede immediately protested.

"Wait a minute, I don't want him on our team! You got to take him Shin!"

"No one gives a shit what you want Private," Shin said somewhat rudely. "I'm assistant squad leader, so I got more say that you, and I say that asshole it not getting assigned to _my_ fireteam. You're just going to have to deal with it."

"Well that's not fair," Poblede protested. "If he opens his mouth one more time, he's going to wake to a Claymore next to his face!"

"Fine then! Maybe we can shove him off onto 1st Squad!"

"Fine! Then let's go find Ferguson!"

"Fine!"

Both women stomped off, leaving Moss standing there in the rain, cradling his loot in his arms, wondering what the hell just happened. Realizing he was getting wet, Moss eased into the tent.

Inside, there were five people, three of whom Moss recognized, two he did not. Norén was sitting on her cot on the women's side of the tent, cleaning her rifle and shaking her like she had just witnessed the dumbest act in the history of mankind. Meanwhile, Bashir and Griffin were sitting on Moss' cot near the entrance to the tent, wiping tears of glee from their eyes. Finally, the two strangers were standing in the open space in the middle of the tent. Based on how clean they looked, they were clearly replacements. One was lying on the ground, clutching his bloody nose while the other was clearly trying to attend to him. At the sight of Moss entering the tent, both replacements leapt to their feet and snapped to attention, the wounded one doing his best not to drip any blood on the ground.

"Are you Sergeant Ferguson?" the unwounded replacement asked.

"No," Moss replied as he walked over to his cot. "Corporal Moss Shen, fireteam Bravo. Sergeant Ferguson is getting some chow, he'll be here shortly."

The replacement nodded in acknowledgement as Moss walked over to his cot.

"Bashir, Griffin, move," Moss ordered as he deposited his loot onto his bed. "Come on guys, you have cots of your own, why you always got to sit on mine?" Without waiting for a response, Moss immediately turned to Norén and pointed at the tent entrance. "Someone want to tell me what the hell just happened and why the fuck Shin and Pip just stormed out of here looking like they were about to murder somebody?"

At his question, Bashir and Griffin immediately burst out laughing and Moss could see the unwounded replacement fighting a grin while the wounded one turned bright red. Norén sighed, before pointing at the replacements.

"That's a question you're going to want to ask them Corporal."

Moss immediately turned to them and raised his arms in inquiry. "Well?"

Somehow, the wounded replacement (One, Moss mentally dubbed,) managed to turn an even brighter shade of red.

"It was meant to be a compliment," Moss heard him nasally mumble and Moss raised an eyebrow, still not getting it. Fortunately, the other replacement (Two, Moss decided; yes, it was very original) was a bit more forthcoming.

"Well Corporal, it kind of goes like this. The platoon sergeant, Sergeant, um..."

"Stalgis," Moss supplied and Two nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, him. Well, he told us to come here and report to Sergeant Ferguson, as we've been assigned to his squad. But, when we got here, he wasn't around so Corporal... Shin? Well she told us to go ahead and take a seat and wait until he got back. While we were waiting here, that other woman came in and I guess McTavish here thought she was kind of hot because he immediately started hitting on her."

Moss couldn't help but raise an eyebrow in disbelief.

"Okay, well, that's kind of a ballsy move for someone who _just_ got here," Moss commented. "But okay, Pip is kind of hot I guess. Worth it, I suppose. But that's not exactly something that would whip her into a murderous frenzy. And Shin is not the jealous type, so why is _she_ pissed?"

"Well," Two delicately began. "It was less of what McTavish _did_ , and more of what he _said_..."

"Oh _boy_ , here we go," Moss muttered to himself. "Okay, tell me honestly, do I really want to know what he said?"

"It was meant to be a compliment!" One suddenly exclaimed, causing Two to finally lose his composure and burst out laughing. "I didn't think she was going to take it the wrong way!"

Moss pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay. What exactly did you say?"

One seemed to suddenly lose his courage. He opened his mouth several times, but nothing came out. Moss glanced at Bashir and Griffin, but it was clear to him neither of them would be of any help. Annoyed, he glanced at Norén, who sighed.

"He asked her what a woman like her was doing around here," Norén supplied.

"Okay..." Moss said slowly. "I can kind of see how Pip would take that the wrong way."

"Oh, it gets worse," Norén assured him. "Private Poblede responded by saying, 'fighting the Covenant, just like everyone else around.' Private Numbnuts here decides the best thing to say next is: 'really, a beautiful woman like you?'"

Moss face palmed. Glancing at One, he couldn't help but ask, "Really? _Really!?_ "

"Man, we haven't even gotten to the best part yet!" Bashir suddenly said, jumping into the conversation. "So Poblede is all 'what's that supposed to mean.' Dumbass here goes, 'well, hot chicks normally don't become Sappers or Paratroopers.' And then Poblede goes, 'and why's that?' And then **he** says, and I quote 'because it's a man's job.'"

Moss watched as One cringed as his own words were repeated out loud, and Moss couldn't decide if he should feel insulted on Poblede's behalf, or entertained by his squad's reaction to this event. He settled for adopting a neutral look on his face as Two continued the tale.

"In all fairness, McTavish did realized he made a mistake," Two reported. "Of course, he promptly dug himself into an even bigger hole."

"I'm guessing this is the part where he pissed Shin off?" Moss predicted.

"Yep!" Griffin excitedly reported. He slapped Bashir on the shoulder. "Tell him the next part!"

Bashir grinned. "Okay, so this guy immediately starts backpedaling, going on about 'oh, that's not what I meant. _Women_ totally become Sappers and Paratroopers, they just normally look like her.' And of course he's pointing at Shin."

Moss inhaled. "Oooooh..."

"Yeah, that was pretty much our reaction," Bashir agreed. "So, now Shin is all 'what the fuck yo?' And this guy starts going on about, 'oh on, you are hot, I didn't mean to say otherwise, you just remind me of my mother.'"

"'Your mother?' Really?" Moss echoed.

"Yeah, he actually said that," Norén confirmed. "Because, you know, every twenty year old woman wants to know that they look like someone's mother."

"So _that's_ what I've been doing wrong all these years," Moss couldn't help but sarcastically comment with firm nod. "I haven't been comparing potential girlfriends to my mother. Interesting."

"So now Shin is all pissed off going, 'what are you saying, I'm old?'" Bashir continued. "And he goes, 'no, no, you're very young looking. Like, you don't even look like you should be in charge!'"

"Thus implying she's either inexperienced or incompetent," Moss elaborated. "Man, I feel like I should be taking notes or something on how _not_ to hit on a woman."

"Yes, well, speaking of hitting, that's exactly what Corporal Shin did. She decked him right in the nose and stormed away yelling something about a transfer," Norén finished. "As you probably noticed, Private Poblede went chasing after her. And, now we're here."

"It was meant to be a compliment..." One feebly protested.

"Clearly you and I have very different ideas as to what exactly constitutes a compliment," Moss informed him. "But don't worry, there _is_ a bright side to all this."

"And what's that Corporal?" One hopefully asked.

"We're not going to have to issue you a shovel because you clearly know how to dig a hole without one," Moss quipped.

At that, Bashir, Griffin, and Two all lost it. Norén snorted appreciatively before returning her attention back her rifle while One stammered ineffectively as Moss grabbed a few pieces of fruit from his cot and headed out the tent, hoping the fruit would be enough to calm Shin and Poblede down and convince them not to brutally murder their newest replacement.

At least, not until the Covenant had their chance.

Moss involuntarily shivered and he glanced at the shadow of Hill 937 looming in the distance. He hoped his squad enjoyed the little reprieve they had because in a couple days...

They were going to be marching right back into hell.


	23. One-Shot: You're in the Army Now!

Fourth of Five.

The next two one-shots are going to be completely different from the other three. Whereas the past three dealt exclusively with Moss and his struggles before Missing in Action takes place, this one and following one will deal with other characters: this week is about Job Griffin, while next week's story will be about Lisbeth Norén.

I wrote these one-shots to try and write a story from another character's perspective. As anyone who has ever written a story, or played any sort of role playing game like D&D, it can be a little difficult to create different characters that have distinct personalities; obviously, most people aren't suffering from multiple personality disorder, so trying to think and act like an entire different person can be a little difficult.

There are several things I tried to do with this chapter. One, I tried to add some complexity to Griffin's character by trying to depict him as being smarter than most people realize. In both of his appearances in my stories, Griffin is portrayed as being both rather ignorant and stupid, but I always envisioned him as being this way not because of a lack of IQ, but because of a lack of formal education. As you'll see in the story, he's a lot more perceptive than most people, Moss included, realize.

Two, I played around with some of the language. According to Halopedia, Mato Grosso, the place I had Griffin come from, is a real life region in Brazil. Because of that, I thought it made sense Griffin would be using a lot of Brazilian Portuguese slang in his every day speech, so a lot of the curses and insults he uses are in Portuguese. A translation is provided at the bottom of the story.

Now, I should warn you, I don't speak a lick of Portuguese, much less Brazilian Portuguese (from what I've been told, there is a pretty big difference between the two.) So, all these words I used, I found on the internet. If I'm using them incorrectly or I have the wrong definition, I apologize and I hope you'll correct me so I can fix it in the story.

Last thing is, the trial in this story is not intended to be accurate in the least bit. Because my focus was on depicting Griffin and his thoughts, I didn't really care about how a trial would actually go in real life, and just made it up as I went along. That's also why the plot of this one-shot may also seem not as well thought out as soon of my other material. Hopefully it was still be enjoyable.

* * *

 **You're in the Army Now!**

Summary: As the war against the Covenant continued to go south and casualties mounted, the UNSC Army found themselves not quite able to keep up with the demand for manpower. To make up for the shortfall, the simple solution was just to reintroduce the draft. Unfortunately for some people, things weren't that simple...

* * *

 **Cidade de Castellanos, Mato Grosso Province, Mamore  
February 17, 2545, SMC  
0937J**

Job Griffin idly played with the magnetic cuffs keeping him attached to the table. There was something wrong with them because the magnets weren't as strong as they should have been, allowing Griffin to pull his hands away from the table ever so slightly. It wasn't enough for him to actually do anything, but it was enough to at least keep him amused.

Griffin kept up his game of pulling his hands away from the table, trying to see how far he could get before he was forced back, for several minutes, before he suddenly noticed one of the coxinhas(1) standing nearby, giving him the stink eye. The fat bastard was glaring at him, finger his shock stick like it was his caralho(2), as if he expected Griffin to suddenly make a break for it.

Griffin burst out laughing at the thought. As if the veado(3) could do anything to stop him. Fat cunt like that would be easy to dodge; he probably hadn't seen his toes since he was a little person!

Not that Griffin would actually do that. Escape, that is. Why would he? Cause, seriously, where else would get three meals a day and actually sleep on a bed every night with a hard roof over his head? If he knew that was the treatment waiting for him, Griffin would have gotten himself arrested _years_ ago. Seriously. He didn't know why people always said jail was the worst place to be. It was easy. All you had to do was do what the guards told you, not get in a fight, and you got a free meal. Even the gang lords left you alone, as long as your blow jobs sucked.

"Mr. Griffin, if you wish for the judge to be lenient on you, please refrain from those outburst," the bitch sitting next to him all of a sudden said. His... what do you call them? Lawer? Lawyer? Lawster?

Griffin turned away from the coxinha. If he had to stare at anyone, he rather stare at _her_. Now, _she_ was a real piece of work. Tall, skinny, soft brown hair. Ass was a bit small, but that was okay, Griffin kind of preferred that. Plus, even though it was hard to tell, she was a favela bitch too, which meant the gang lords wouldn't be into her. Oh sure, she tried to make it sound like she was an uptown bitch, but she couldn't hide her accent from Griffin plus, he had seen the cigarette burns on her arms she tried so hard to cover up with her sleeves. Uptown girls would have paid to have them removed.

That alone told Griffin everything he needed to know about this bitch. Abusive childhood, probably her father, didn't have good enough tricks to escape the barrio so she got a job here and spent most of her days trying to convince herself she was making a "difference." That she was doing some "good." That she was "helping."

Griffin snorted. As if anyone could do any good around here. This was Mato Grosso. This was Mamore. People were beyond help around here. The only way a difference could be made was if the Innies set off another nuke. And until that happened, well, Griffin was going to make sure he had a lot of fun.

"Mr. Griffin please," his lawster begged. "I need you to trust me. These are some serious charges you're facing."

Griffin shrugged. He just didn't see what the big deal was. So he tried to rob a bank. So what? It's not like he actual stole anything so why did the government care?

It all started a couple weeks ago, when these two uptown mauricinhos(4) came up to him, looking for someone to help them rob a bank. They needed a getaway driver, and they were willing to give Griffin fifty credits to do it. Fifty credits(5)! Griffin didn't think he had never seen that much money before. Of course he said yes.

Well, okay, he only said yes _after_ making sure the bank didn't belong to the Cartels or the Families. Griffin wasn't an idiot. In Mato Grosso, the best way to get killed was by trying to steal from either of them. Griffin wasn't too worried about dying, but with the Cartels or the Families, it wasn't the dying part you needed to worry about, it was what came before.

Anyways, the plan had been simple. He would meet the mauricinhos in their car in the alley behind the bank. While they were inside grabbing the stuff, all Griffin had to do was wait behind the wheel until they came out, and drive away. That was it. It should have been great. Except for one problem: Griffin had never been inside a car, much less driven one.

But, he had figured at the time, how hard could it be?

…

Very, apparently.

Griffin had gotten maybe two blocks away from the bank when he forgot which foot-thingy was to stop and which one was to go straight, and Griffin had ended up crashing into the back of a police car.

Whoops.

Getting away on foot had been easy. They were still in barrio and Griffin knew those alleys like he knew... he knew the alleys very good. Better than os homi(6) at any case. The thing was, os homi had seen his face. The mauricinhos had told him to bring a mask, but they had used a funny word for it so Griffin didn't get it. It turns out, there was a huge difference between a "balaclava" and a "baklava(7)." Apparently, one was a mask, the other was something you ate. Who knew?

Because of that, drones were able to catch him hanging around his hooch by the river, and he'd been arrested four hours later. Now, after a two week fun-filled stay in the local jail, Griffin was here to find out what was going to happen to him.

He hoped he stayed in jail. They were serving pizza at the cafeteria this Friday and Griffin never had pizza before.

"All rise for the honorable Judge Beirada!"

Griffin raised his head to see a porro do bugre(8), with his greasy hair slicked back and his rat face covered in a fine layer of sweat, walk into the room.

 _SLAM!_

Griffin barely blinked as the coxinha slammed his hand down on the table in front of him. His lawster though, let out a loud shriek of surprise, but she quickly quieted herself when both Griffin and the coxinha shot her an odd look.

"All rise!" the coxinha barked. "That means you too, Convict!"

" _Excuse_ me! My client has yet to be convicted of anything, you will not refer to him as..." Griffin's lawster started to say, but quickly trailed off when Griffin shrugged. What the hell did he care what this veado called him?

Griffin started to rise to his feet, but unfortunately he had forgotten all about his cuffs. As he started to stand up, Griffin was able to pull his hands a couple centimeters away from the table, but then the power quickly kicked back in, pulling them straight back down. Caught off guard by the motion, Griffin jerked forward, slamming his face onto the top of the table. The coxinha let out a loud laugh.

"Zé buceta(9)," the coxinha said with a sneer and Griffin could tell the veado knew that was going to happen, and had done it on purpose.

His lawster started to rise, her hand extended, as if she expected Griffin to attack the guard, which was weird. Why would Griffin bother doing something like that? See, that was the thing about living in Mato Grosso. There was no need to get pissed off at people because eventually, and it might take a couple of weeks or even a couple of years, but eventually that person would end up finding themselves lying face down in a sewer somewhere, with a slit throat, a bullet in the back of the head, or a shiv in the neck. And Griffin knew for a fact that this veado was probably going to get shanked sometime later this week.

So instead of doing anything, all Griffin did was rub his nose on his arm, sit back down, and _smile_ at the coxinha.

The sneer on the veado's face instantly disappeared, and he started to look pale. He quickly backed away from Griffin, nervously glancing over his shoulder.

Griffin's lawster shot him a questioning look, but all Griffin did was give her a real smile and shrug, as if he didn't know what was going on. He instead turned his gaze forward and watched as the bugre take a seat behind that weird table at the front of the room.

"Be seated," the bugre said in a nasally voice. "Super, bring up the file for this court case."

"Of course sir," a small, electronic voice said, one that Griffin recognized as belonging to the city's superintendent dumb AI. He had spent most of his life being raised by that machine; because of that, Griffin couldn't help but smile every time he heard that dull voice.

"Court case 10353584 dash A. Defendant Griffin, Job, stands accused of one account of attempted robbery - "

"Attempted robbery? What did he try to steal?" the bugre interrupted, looking excited, probably because he was hoping to get a bribe. Well, sucks to be him.

Before his lawster could stop him, Griffin pipped up.

"A bank," Griffin announced, ignoring the sound of his lawster palming her face.

"A bank?" the bugre repeated with a raised eyebrow. "You tried to steal a bank? Like, bricks, vault, roof, everything?"

Griffin let out a laugh at the thought. Man, he should have tried that. That would have been cool. "Nah bro, it were sumethin inside dude."

"Mr. Griffin!" the bugre snapped. "I am a provincial judge appointed by the government himself and as such, you will treat me with the respect I deserve. Therefore, you do _not_ 'bro' or 'dude' and you _will_ address me as 'sir' or 'your honor.' If you do not, I will have no choice but to find you in contempt of the court and punish you as I see fit. Do you understand?"

Griffin cocked his head. He thought this bugre's name was Beirada. Meh. Whatever.

"Sure thing Sir Your Honor."

The bugre stared at him for a moment. "I suppose that's the best I'm going to get out of a pendejo(10) like you," he finally said with a sigh. "Which bank did you attempt to steal from?"

"The bank in question is the Novo bank branch located on 12th and L St," Super supplied.

"That belong to either the Cartels or the Families?"

"Nope," Griffin cheerfully provided when it became clear no one else would.

"Sir Your Honor," he added as an afterthought.

The bugre grunted. "You steal anything?" he asked, looking more and more bored by the second, probably cause he knew now he wasn't getting any bribes.

"Not me," Griffin replied. Those two mauricinhos probably did, but then again, os homi might have taken it.

Whatever, it wasn't Griffin's problem.

"Then what do I care about what happened?" the bugre was saying. "Super, drop the charges. This was hardly worth coming in for.

Griffin blinked, then looked at his lawster, not sure what that meant for him, only to see her with a surprised and almost... disappointed? look on her face.

"That's it sir?" she exclaimed. "You're just going to dismiss the charges just like that?"

The bugre gave a look that clearly said he thought she was being stupid. "Yep."

"What about the one account of destruction of government property my client is being charged with Your Honor?"

"Your client doesn't have any money," the bugre said rather bluntly. "Who cares?"

"Then what about..."

"Sweetie, do you want your client to be out back in jail?" the bugre interrupted, somewhat snobbishly.

"No, of course not," his lawster quickly said. "It's just - "

"Then what's the problem babes?"

Griffin could see his lawster grinding her teeth in suppressed anger.

"No problem, _sir_ ," she finally said.

"Good," the bugre said, somewhat satisfactory as he leaned back in his chair. "Now that _that's_ been dealt with, let's move on to the next charge."

"Next charge?" his lawster blurted out, surprised. "You just dismissed my client of all charges!"

"All charges the _Provincial_ Government was bringing against your client. The UNSC, on the other hand, has their own charges they're bringing against your client."

Griffin's head excitedly shot up at that. Oh, here they go.

Griffin's lawster, on the other hand, looked confused. "And what charges would that be Your Honor?"

"Draft dodging," the bugre announced, reading off his holographic screen. "A draft notice was automatically sent to your client's place of residence two years ago, when he turned eighteen. However, he never reported in to the nearest Army recruitment center as he was require, nor has he bothered responding to any inquiries as to his status. As such, there can only be one explanation for his actions: your client is deliberately dodging the draft."

He turned to glare at Griffin. "Mr. Griffin, I don't think you understand how much in the wrong you are here. The UNSC allows us the independence we have on the condition that we do not interfere with their business. By attempting to avoid your duty, you jeopardize that entire agreement! I ought to have you put against the wall and shot for such a travesty!"

"Objection Your Honor!" Griffin's lawster interrupted and Griffin turned to see her digging through her notes. "My client was never made aware of these charges and as such, you can't expect to render judgement on such a serious accusation." She apparently couldn't find whatever it was she was looking for because she finally stopped rustling through her notes and looked up, and Griffin could see she looked half outraged, half nervous. "I don't have a defense prepared!"

The bugre yawned. "Babes, that's not my problem. This is my court, I can do whatever I want." He paused then a smirk appeared on his face, and Griffin could see him studying the bitch with a hungry look on his face. "But if you really want, you could, uh, 'convince' me otherwise."

It was clear, even to Griffin, what the bugre wanted.

Griffin watched with mild fascination as his lawster's face sort of closed off, and he could see her biting the inside of her check. He could also see her clinching her first so tightly, her knuckles were turning white. She didn't appear to be at all willing to go for the man's offer, and Griffin suddenly realized his thought from before about her had been wrong: it wasn't so much she didn't have good enough tricks to escape the barrio, it was she wasn't willing to put out. Why? With a face and a body like hers, she probably could be making some decent money somewhere. Probably a lot more than she was making now.

But hey, what did Griffin care? It had nothing to do with him, so he turned his attention to something that did. He thought about what the bugre had just told them. Griffin didn't quite get everything the man had said, but he think he got most of it. Someone had sent Griffin something, some drafty thing, that he was supposed to answer. It had been sent to his... resipence? Residence? Wasn't that a fancy word for home?

But Griffin had been living in his hooch for years and never got anything from no one, aside from the fifty credits those mauricinhos gave him, which he had spent on the baklava (which he had ate.) So, what the hell was this bugre talking about?

He raised his hand to ask, but had already forgotten about his cuffs (again) so he wasn't able to raise them too high before the power kicked back in and his hands hit the table with a loud _BANG_!

Ow.

The noise did get the bugre's attention and he turned to look at Griffin.

"What do you want?" he snapped.

"Where this thingy get sent to?"

"...What?"

"The drafty thingy," Griffin clarified. "Where'd it get sent to?"

The bugre blinked in confusion before glancing at his screen. "Your place of residence. At 12th and Osorio."

Griffin cocked his head. Huh. He knew that place. But why?

Oh right. It was his foster home for a couple months. But he hadn't been there in a long time...

"Why'd it go there?" Griffin asked.

"Excuse me?" the bugre demanded, somewhat rudely. "Jesus, I know you street rats are idiots, but you think you would know your own address."

Griffin shook his head. "Ain't live there in four years."

"What?" the bugre glanced at his screen again

"According to the records, you still live there." He glanced at Griffin suspiciously. "Do you have evidence of your move from that location?"

Griffin shrugged. "Don't know 'bout no 'evidence,' but when 'what's-her-tits' running the place told me to 'fuckin get out,' I did."

The bugre stared at him, then glanced back at his screen. "They're supposed to report when their wards leave," Griffin heard the man mutter, but didn't say a thing. He wasn't surprised 'what's-her-tits' didn't say anything about him leaving. Someone told him once, foster families got some money for having orphans like Griffin in their homes. The money was supposed to be used on the orphan, but lot of times, the families just pocketed the cash. If no one told the government Griffin had left, they would just keep sending money to the family.

"Mr. Griffin, what is your current address?" the bugre said with a sigh. "Let's get these records updated while we're all here."

"I lives by the river," Griffin told him. "Near Merkin Plaza," he added.

The bugre glanced up at him with an odd look on his face.

"Mr. Griffin, that's a junkyard. There are no buildings there," the bugre told him, but then paused. "Mr. Griffin, are you currently homeless?"

"No... I gots a hooch," Griffin protested, thinking about the box he had. And it was a good box too. It was made out of some sort of plastico, making it really light and waterproof. It was also pretty tough, so it could save him from all the shrapnel from all them mortars the Innies liked to fire randomly at the UNSC buildings on the other side of the river.

Of course cause he'd been in here, it was probably gone now. Some little puto probably stole it. Meh. Sucks.

"Mr. Griffin, if you're living in a box, then by definition, you are homeless," the bugre told him.

Griffin cocked his head, not quite getting it. "I gots a roof over my head," he pointed out. "Don't that make it a home?"

The bugre stared at Griffin with an odd expression on his face, and it took Griffin a moment to realize what it was: pity. Huh. Weird.

"Your Honor, I like a moment alone with my client," Griffin's lawster suddenly said and without waiting for a response, she hit a button. Griffin watched with interest as a bubble surrounded them.

"Cool!" Griffin said. He tried to reach out and touch the bubble, but he kept forgetting about his damn cuffs so he couldn't even get close.

"Mr. Griffin, if you could pay attention for a moment please?"

Griffin shrugged and turned to stare at his lawster.

"Mr. Griffin, I just want to make sure you actually understand what's going on right now. Do you understand what's going on right now?"

Griffin bobbed his head. "Yep! Some dudes sent me some thingy but 'cause they don't know where I is, I never gots it."

"Not just any 'dudes,' the UNSC Army," his lawster corrected. "You know who they are right?"

Griffin rolled his eyes. Everyone knew who the UNSC Army was. They were the biggest gang around, even bigger than os homi.

"And it wasn't just some 'thingy' they sent you," his lawster continued. "It was a conscription notice. Do you know what _that_ is?"

"Nope!" Griffin cheerfully announced. He noticed the bugre and the coxinha just outside the bubble were busy talking to each other, but he couldn't hear a word they were saying. He wondered if they could see him so Griffin made a funny face at them, but they didn't react.

"Mr. Griffin, please, focus," his lawster begged with a sigh. "This is serious stuff. A conscription notice basically means they were going to make you join the UNSC Army. Your failure to respond could have some serious repercussions. Now, obviously based on the facts you just presented, I think we can convince the judge to drop the charges of draft evasion as it should be evident to anyone with half a brain that you weren't deliberately trying to avoid getting draft, it's just your current circumstances are completely out of your control. While that may allow you to avoid any of the punishments, I think the UNSC will still insist on your enlistment anyways, which under normal circumstances I would have objected to but in your cases..." she hesitated for moment. "I think it would actually be beneficial for you if you were to join."

"O yea?" Griffin said after a moment of silence. He had stopped paying attention a few minutes ago, so he had no idea what she was saying, but she seemed to be waiting for him to say something.

"I do, actually," his lawster said with a nod and Griffin let out a quiet laugh when he realized she hadn't noticed he wasn't paying attention. "I don't want to sound insulting Mr. Griffin, but according to your records, you have no family, no friends, and a ninth grade education at best. You have no money, no future, and no purpose in your life. If you continue living the way you do, you're doomed to die in a couple years. And while I think the UNSC ruins everything they touch, I think in your case, they'll do more good than bad."

"'K!" Griffin cheerfully said. "Does this mean I stay in jail?"

"No Mr. Griffin, this means you'll be released soon," his lawster told him.

"Aww, but I wanna stay in jail," Griffin complained.

His lawster looked surprised. "Why on Earth would you want that Mr. Griffin?"

"'Cause they feed me here?" Griffin stared at her. Was she stupid?

For some reason, she looked sad at that.

"Don't worry Mr. Griffin, the Army will feed you too," she told him.

Griffin immediately brightened. "Oh yea? Fuck it then, let's go!"

He started to get up, but managed to remember about his cuffs at the last second and he quickly sat back down.

In the meantime, his lawster hit another button, and the bubble around them went away.

"Babes, you done with your little chitchat?" the bugre immediately demanded to know.

"We are, sir," Griffin's lawster said between gritted teeth.

"Well then let's wrap this up. I don't have all day you know."

"Of course." His lawster stood up. "I believe it should be evident to everyone present here that my client, Mr. Job Griffin, did not and was not deliberately shrinking his duties as a UNSC citizen, that he was only a victim of fraud, and circumstances outside of his control. Because of that, I move that you drop all charges against my client Your Honor."

"That could happen, but somebody has to respond to that draft notice, and it certainly won't be me."

"We realize that. Which is why my client, now that he's aware he had been drafted, will respond as he had been required to do two years ago."

"Fine by me," the bugre said with a shrug. "As long as it gets the UNSC off my back. Super, make the arrangements."

"Yes sir," Super droned.

"Now that that's been settled, I declare this trial over. Finally," he muttered.

"K!" Griffin brightly called out as his hologram disappeared. "Bye bugre!"

"Mr. Griffin!" his lawster snapped. "Please don't call him that!"

Griffin cocked his head. "What, a bugre? But ain't that what he is?"

"Well, yes, in a manner of speaking," his lawster admitted. "But that's an incredibly rude term and you should refer to people like that at all!"

"O yea?" Griffin said, scratching his head. Huh, he didn't know that. "But he was a lot of rude to you," he pointed out.

"Yes. Well. I'm used to that. And, just because he was in the wrong, that doesn't mean you should be the same," his lawster quietly said.

Griffin glanced at the sad expression on her face and a thought occurred to him. "Hey Lawster."

"Lawster? No Mr. Griffin, I'm a _lawyer_. Law-yer. With a 'y.'"

"Law-yer," Griffin repeated. "K. Hey Lawyer, I wanna ask you sumthin."

"And what's that Mr. Griffin?"

"If the Army is so good, why don't you join too? Seems like you could use it too," Griffin noted, giving her body a look over and noticing how shabby her clothes were and how thin she looked.

His lawster... law-yer, looked surprised by the question.

"I, um, well, that's to say," his lawyer stuttered, "um, there would be no point. You see, I can do more good here, trying to help people like you Mr. Griffin. People who don't have anything left. Who, who have been left behind..."

She trailed off and Griffin could tell she was trying to convince herself more than she was Griffin.

Griffin wanted to tell her she was wasting her time, that there was no helping anyone around here, but he managed to stop himself in time. What did he care what she did? Wasn't his business.

Still, she did just help him, and he supposed he owed her something for that. He didn't have any money, and she didn't seem the type to wanna fuck him, but he did have something that might help her.

"Hey." She looked up at him. "If that bu-" Griffin stopped himself before he could continue. "That dude fucks with you anymore, tell the UNSC he's stealing from them. Probably long time now."

His lawyer looked surprise. "What makes you say that?"

Griffin shrugged.

"He asked if the bank was the Cartels or Families. He don't ask if it was the UNSC's. Which it was," Griffin pointed out. "But he just kept saying he don't want the UNSC in his buziness. Why'd he let me go for the robbery, but not the drafty thingy?"

"Because the UNSC brought the charges of draft evasion directly against you and not through the Provincial Government. Which meant if he just left you go without a good reason, they would investigate him _directly_ , and maybe find evidence of his corruption," his lawyer said with realization. She turned to stare at Griffin. "That's... that's very insightful of you."

Griffin shrugged. He had no idea what that meant, but it sounded good so he was happy.

"Well, thank you very much for all your help Mr. Griffin," his lawyer finally said as she gathered up her files. "I'll be in contact soon about your enlistment date and where you'll need to report to. Until next time Mr. Griffin."

She gave him a smile, like, a real smile, before her hologram also disappeared, leaving Griffin and the coxinha alone in the jail's communication room. The coxinha hit a button and there was a loud _buzz_ before Griffin's cuffs finally released him from the table.

"Hey bro, sorry about before with the cuffs and shit," the coxinha said as he helped Griffin to his feet. "Didn't mean nothing by it."

Griffin shrugged, but didn't say anything. He watched as the coxinha look around before leaning in, as if he were about to tell Griffin a secret.

"Hey bro. You don't know nothing about no Cartel hit on me, do you?" he nervously asked.

Griffin hid a smile. "Why'd they do that bro?" he asked, doing his best to sound completely clueless.

"I dunno, maybe they heard about me skimming," the coxinha muttered to himself.

It took all of Griffin's effort not to laugh out loud. Now he had something he could sell to the Cartels.

Sure, Griffin had lost his hooch. And he wasn't going to be able to stay in jail. But he was getting set up to join the biggest gang in the barrio and he had some information he could sell to the Cartel to make his last few days around here somewhat comfortable.

Life was looking good for Job Griffin.

* * *

1\. "coxinha" is a slang term for a police officer in Brazilian Portuguese. Based on some other websites I looked at, it seems to be used in the a similar way to the way "Pig" is used in the English speaking world, in that it's not intended to be a complimentary term (source: _/en-US/questions/5503685_ )

2\. "caralho" is an explicit Portuguese word for "penis" ( _)_

3. _"_ veado" is a derogatory term for a gay person ( _. ?language=Portuguese+%28brazil%29_ )

4\. "mauricinhos" is a slang, derogatory term for a young, upper-class man ( _wiki/mauricinho_ ) Also, according to _.com_ , it's Portuguese for "motherfucker"

5\. I don't know what the conversation rate between a UNSC "credit" and a US dollar or EU Euro would be, but either way I don't imagine 50 credits being a lot of money to help someone rob a bank. Griffin just doesn't know better.

6\. "os homi" literarily translated into English means "the men," but depending on the context, can also mean "the cops." ( _. /os+homi/)_

7\. I think this is a rather old joke, but I've most recently seen in appear in _Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D_ season 4, episode 8, so that's where I'm attributing it.

8\. A "bugre" is a racial slur referring to Indians. Now, I could be wrong, but I get the impression that it's not Indian's from India per se, rather it's a racist term for indigenous Brazilians. Kind of like how "redskin" is used in the U.S. to refer to Native Americans. ( _race/brazilians_ )

9\. "Zé buceta" according to this website, ( _. ?language=Portuguese+%28brazil%29 &word=Z%C3%A9+Buceta_)means "idiot," but according to _.com_ , it means "pussy." I'm inclined to believe the former website is more accurate, but in this context, either definition works.

10\. "Pendejo" is actually Spanish and not Portuguese. It basically means "dumbass" or "retard" ( . ?term=pendejo)


	24. One-Shot: Yesterday's Enemies

Last of my one-shots.

Like I mentioned in my notes last week, this week's story will take place from the perspective of Lisbeth Norén, Moss' former Innie friend from _Missing in Action_.

The first thing I want to mention is that Norén in this chapter is going sound like a completely different character from her appearance in _Missing in Action_. That is deliberate. This story takes place in 2452, **3 YEARS BEFORE MIA** that means this story takes place just before the fall of Alluvion, long before the battles of Newsaka and Actium, and years before Moss has even joined the Army. That means, in this story, Norén has yet to suffer the trauma of having lost her homeworld, she hasn't lost all her friends and family, and she hasn't lost her sole purpose in life. Try to keep that in mind when reading this story.

Unlike Griffin's story, I didn't really do anything fancy about Norén's language. I wasn't really crazy about the way Griffin's speech in the last one-shot had turned out, so I didn't even bother with this one.

* * *

 **Yesterday's Enemies  
** Summary: The Covenant made for some strange bedfellows. Yesterday's enemies become today's allies, and today's friends became tomorrow's foes. No one knew this better than Lisbeth Norén of the Alluvion Defense Force. Last time she checked, the UNSC were the bad guys. But now they were the good guys? How was a girl supposed to keep track?

* * *

 **Fort Jensen, Yukon Province, Alluvion  
January 22, 2542  
0432J**

Norén gasped for breath as she clawed at her throat, her windpipe full of crud, preventing her from taking as deep of a breath as she would have liked. The door to her pod slid open and she immediately fell to the ground, her knees hitting the metal surface hard, but she barely noticed the pain. Instead, she punched herself in the stomach with as much force as she could until she felt like puking. She felt her throat bulge as pressure built before whatever was in the way finally gave, and she leaned over and hurled onto the ground. Her throat finally clear, Norén took a deep breath, taking her first breathe of non-filtered air for the first time in five months.

With her mind struggling to recover from the temporary oxygen deficiency, Norén's eyes darted around the room, taking in the sights through her blurry vision. Someone was saying something above her, but it would require far too much effort to try and understand what was being said. Instead, she focused on the fact that she appeared to be surrounded by at least three people: one that was crouched beside her to her left, and two more standing upright to her right. She stared at the two standing up and it took her addled brain a few seconds to register exactly what she was looking at: they were both wearing the uniform of the UNSC Army. Son of a bitch.

Norén immediately went on the offensive. She tried to surge to her feet, but her body refused to obey. Her trembling muscles failed to respond and instead she started to fall over, however the person beside her grabbed her by the shoulders and held her upright.

"Whoa Corporal!" the woman said. "It's alright, take it easy!"

Norén turned to stare at the woman, blurrily making out the colors of the ADF she was wearing around her bicep.

"But... UNSC...right there..." Norén breathlessly stuttered out, gesturing helplessly at the two UNSC fucks, trying to make sure they were in fact, truly there.

"I know Corporal," the woman replied, confirming what Norén was seeing. "But the situation has changed since you went under. There's a ceasefire between the ADF and the UNSC."

A ceasefire? That would explain why soldiers from the UNSC and soldiers from the ADF were standing in the same room without trying to kill each other, but it didn't explain how the ceasefire came to be.

But before Norén could inquire further, the woman threw a blanket around her shoulders.

"Come on Corporal, let's get you some clothes. On your feet soldier. Upsy-daisy!"

With her help, Norén staggered to her feet and started to head out of the room. However as she started walking, she found her legs were trembling so bad, she could barely take a few steps before her legs gave out, and she was forced to lean on the woman for support.

"Jesus," Norén heard the woman say. "What did you guys do to her?"

" _We_ didn't do anything but put her on ice," Norén heard one of the UNSC soldiers say, and Norén felt a surge of hate towards them. Instinctively she lurched towards them to try and, she didn't know, hit them or something, but the woman stopped her before she could fall over.

"Why the hell would you _people_ , put someone who'd never been trained for cryosleep, into a cryo tube!?"

"She kept trying to escape, start riots, and she was just in general a giant pain in the ass. Putting her on ice was the simplest way of keeping her in line," came the unrepentant reply.

"You're a bunch of savages," the woman snarled.

"Fuck you bitch. Don't even talking to me about being a savage. You know just as well as I do, if the situation was reversed, you would have fucking executed her. So fuck you. Fucking Innies."

"Hey, fuck you, you fucking fascist pig!" Norén eagerly jumped in, sensing the woman needed some reinforcements. "You're a bunch of fucking pussies, the lot of you. I'll fucking take you all down."

The same UNSC soldier snorted. "Oh please. You couldn't fight your way out of a wet paper bag right now."

White hot anger surged through Norén's veins, and she found herself shoving the ADF woman aside as she rose to the challenge. "Let's find out then, bitch! I'll fucking rip out your spine and skull fuck you to death, how do you like that, ya fascist cunt!?"

A wild look appeared over the UNSC soldier's face and she took a step forward, but the other soldier grabbed her by the arm before she could do anything.

"Enough!" the ADF woman roared. "You two were ordered to make sure the release of Corporal Norén went smoothly, then escort us to the med bay. Well, we're here, so you guys can fuck off now."

"And leave you two alone to try and blow up the base? I don't think so," the restrained soldier snarled.

"You got cameras, don't you? Go fucking watch them!"

The other UNSC soldier stopped the first before she could say anything else.

"That's enough Lieutenant! Fine, we'll leave you two alone, but she's your responsibility." She pointed a finger at Norén, and Norén was so tempted to lean forward and bite it, but it was painfully clear to her she just didn't have the strength to accomplish something like that right now. "Anything happens, she starts anything, that's on you. Hey! Do you understand me Innie?"

"I heard you the first time!" the ADF woman snapped.

"Good!"

Shooting one last glare at Norén, who returned it with a kiss just to see if she could provoke them into starting something, the two UNSC soldiers left.

"What a bunch of assholes," Norén muttered.

"You said it. Come on, let's get you on top of this table."

With the woman's help, Norén was able to get into a seated position on the top of the table.

"You think with this ceasefire, the UNSC would have pulled that stick out of their asses," the woman said as she rummaged through a nearby cabinet. "Guess it's true what they say: a leopard can't change its spots."

Norén absentmindedly nodded in agreement, but the adrenaline in her veins was beginning to wear out, and she could feel a headache forming. She was tired, sore, and really confused.

"Hey," Norén called out. "Who are you anyway?"

"Lieutenant Avery, Alluvion Defense Force Medical Corps," came the reply and Norén let out a string of curses as she realized she had been talking to an officer. She started to climb to her feet so she could salute the Lieutenant, but Avery shot her a nasty glare and she relented.

"Here, this should help with the muscle fatigue," Avery announced as she returned with a needle.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to poison you, this is just some steroids," she added, seeing the weary look Norén was giving the needle.

"It's not that ma'am, I just don't like needles," Norén admitted.

"Unfortunately, if you want to walk under your own power, there's no avoiding it."

Norén nodded and turned away as Avery jabbed her in the shoulder.

"This is why you're not supposed to spend more than a couple hours in cryo the first time you use it," Avery ranted as she tossed the needle in a biohazard waste receptacle. "You're supposed to give your body time to adapt to the freeze and thaw cycles. Fucking UNSC pricks."

"You'll hear no arguments from me ma'am," Norén agreed. "Which sort of leads to my next question: a ceasefire? Since when do we negotiate with these goose-stepping bastards anyway? Unless we won," she hopefully added.

Avery shook her head. "Not exactly. It's a little hard to explain. How long have you been on ice anyway?"

"Depends: what year is it?"

"Oh shit, I'm sorry," Avery said apologetically. "It's the twenty second of January, 2542."

Norén nodded.

"I was captured by the URF back in 2540," she told Avery. "Was held by those turncoats until April of 2541, when the camp I was being held at was attacked by the UNSC, and I was captured by those assholes."

Avery narrowed her eyes. "Sounds like you've been a prisoner for a long time now, haven't you?" she said somewhat oddly.

"And what exactly do you mean by _that_?" Norén growled.

"Oh, nothing," Avery airily said. "It's just that, most ADF personnel don't survive that long in either the URF or the UNSC's hands... unless of course there's a good reason for either party to _not_ execute their prisoner."

Norén's eyes narrowed, and she felt anger surge through her veins again. Who the fuck did this bitch think she was, implying Norén was a traitor. Norén didn't just spend the last decade of her life, two of which were spent as a prisoner of war, fighting against the oppressions of the UNSC, only for her loyalties to be questioned by her own side!

Before Norén could let Avery know exactly what she was thinking, there was a loud rumble overhead, causing the building to shake. Both Avery and Norén looked up in alarm.

"Let's get you some clothes," Avery hastily announced. She walked over to a set of lockers by the door and came back with a small bundle of folded clothes, which she handed to Norén. "I think these are about your size."

Norén glanced at the clothes then glared at Avery. What the fuck was this bitch trying to pull?

"That's a UNSC uniform," Norén pointed out in a low growl. Avery didn't appear phased.

"Yes, I know," she said somewhat impatiently.

"I rather walk around naked than wear that filth."

"Yeah, well, unfortunately for you, that isn't an option. This is a UNSC base; they destroy all ADF uniforms and regalia as soon as they captured them. The best we can do is give you one of these armbands, show people you're one of us." She gestured at the armband she was wearing. When Norén made no motion to take the clothes however, Avery sighed. "Take the damn clothes. That's an order, _Corporal!_ "

With a disgusted growl, Norén reluctantly took the offered fatigues. The clothes were warm, like they had just came out of a dryer, and Norén could detect just the barest scent of laundry detergent, indicating they had been recently washed. Despite that, Norén couldn't help but feel her skin crawl as she slid the clothes on. This uniform, and the eagle emblem of the UNSC, were symbols of evil, evil Norén had spent years trying to exterminate. And now she had to wear them? That was just **wrong**.

Still, she supposed she didn't have a choice. That rumbling had been the result of a missile launch, though it had been far heavier than Norén was used to, and there was no way Norén was walking into a battlefield stark naked.

"Follow me," Avery commanded as soon as Norén had finished dressing. Without waiting for a response, she whirled around on one heel and darted out of the room, forcing Norén to run to catch up.

As she chased through the halls after Avery, Norén noticed that there were a large number of UNSC soldiers running around, all of them fully geared and armed to the teeth, making Norén feel like she was naked again clad in her light fatigues without a weapon to defend herself. She resolved to rearm herself with actual weaponry as soon as possible; it wouldn't be too hard to find a brownshirt about her size, isolate him, then slit his throat and steal his equipment. But for now, she was content to follow Avery.

As she caught up to Avery, there were another two rumbles and the base shook again, causing dust and plasters to fall from the ceiling.

"Hey Lieutenant, I thought you said there was a ceasefire between us and the UNSC?" Norén asked as she brushed the dust off her shoulders.

"There is," Avery said shortly.

"Then who the hell are they launching those missiles at, the URF?"

Avery shook her head. "They're not shooting at any human targets. They're -"

"Then what are they shooting at, the fucking emus?" Norén interrupted with a derisive laugh. She was joking, but then again, she wouldn't exactly be surprised if it turned out to be true. It would be so like the UNSC, to attack a target that couldn't fight back, and expend a ton of very expensive ordnance while doing so.

"No!" Avery snapped, somewhat impatiently. "They're shooting at the Covenant!"

"The who?"

"The Covenant!"

Norén racked her brains, but she couldn't think of a single Separatist group that called themselves "The Covenant."

"Sounds like a flip(1) band name," Norén commented. "Who the fuck are the Covenant?"

"The Covenant are a bunch of genocidal aliens going around the galaxy killing everything in their path," Avery explained. "And Alluvion is next in line."

Norén frowned. That sounded familiar.

"Oh, right!" Norén exclaimed. "The UNSC's bogeyman!" She frowned. "Don't tell me you believe in that shit Lieutenant. Everyone knows that ONI made that up in order to scare everyone into falling in line behind the UNSC banner. A group of hostile aliens that no one has ever encountered before comes out of nowhere and starts attacking the UNSC, just as a number of Separatists groups start to gain ground against the government? And these guys are so technologically advance, not even the 'vaunted' UNSC Navy is capable of standing against them, so the UNSC needs all Separatist groups to stop fighting and help out, otherwise these 'aliens' are going to wave their magic wands and turn entire planets into one gigantic wasteland? Yeah, right."

"I use to think the same thing," Avery admitted. "But first off, it was the UNSC that asked for the ceasefire -"

"So they could lull all of us into a false sense of security," Norén interjected. "God, I hope the prime minister has remained hidden during this so-called ceasefire."

"Not only that," Avery continued as if Norén hadn't said a word, "we lost all contact with Fallow a couple days ago.

"Communication glitch," Norén said with a shrug. "I'm sure it'll be back up soon enough."

Avery shook her head. "We intercepted a number of video transmissions between the UNSC garrison up there and the ones down here. All showed the same thing: UNSC soldiers fighting against a distinctively _alien_ force."

"Leadership just happened to 'intercept' communications that prove what the UNSC is saying? What a coincidence!" Norén sarcastically noted.

"If that's the case, then why is that moon lit up like it is on fire?"

"Odd reflections from Bhaakto."

Avery shook her head in disbelief. "You haven't even been outside yet. If you could see the state of Fallow now, you wouldn't be saying that."

"Don't need to. I _know_ how the UNSC operates. _**I**_ fought against them for a little under a decade."

"What about all the explosions in high orbit? None of the Independence groups around here have an air force, so who are the UNSC fighting? What about the survivors from Fallow, all saying the same thing?"

"It's probably fireworks and crisis actors."

"And what would the point of this elaborate scheme be, Corporal?" Avery demanded.

Norén stared at her like she was an idiot. "To convince us to reveal ourselves. We've been fighting this war for almost forty years now, and we're winning. The UNSC knows they can't beat us militarily, so they're trying to sucker us out in the open so they can drop a couple of MAC rounds on us."

"Sounds like you got it all figured out, don't you Corporal," Avery said, sneeringly.

"And you've fallen for their lies hook, line, and sinker," Norén shot back. "Are you sure you know which side you're on?"

Avery reeled back, looking offended. She opened her mouth, but then closed it just as quickly.

"You know what? You believe what you want to believe Corporal," she hissed. "You'll see the true for yourself soon enough. In the meantime, shut up and follow my orders."

"You're in charge ma'am," Norén darkly replied. Left unsaid but implied was the 'for now' part.

Avery didn't say anything else, but continued down the hall. As they moved, more and more rumblings could be heard, causing Norén to shake her head. What was the UNSC trying to do, waste all of Alluvion's natural resources as a last minute fuck you to the ADF before they lost? Why else would they be expending all this ordnance?

They reached the end of the hall and entered what appeared to be a mess hall. It was crowded, full of fully geared and armed UNSC soldiers, and Norén frowned. All these targets clustered together and she didn't have a single grenade or block of C-12 she could set off. Norén wasn't big on suicide attacks but against a target of this magnitude, it would have totally been worth it. What a pity.

"Stay here and await further orders," Avery ordered and then, before Norén could say anything, promptly disappeared into the crowd.

Norén opened her mouth to swear, but then abruptly noticed the hostile looks she was getting from the brownshirts around her. She returned the looks with just as much venom, but mentally her brain was working in overdrive. With Avery having ditched her, Norén no longer had someone watching her back. If a fight broke out, it would be far too easy for her to get surrounded. She needed to find a corner and fast so she could at least have a wall to put her back against.

Adopting a scornful look on her face so she didn't accidentally signal her intentions to the brownshirts, Norén casually made her way towards the nearest wall, then started following it until she reached a corner. As she approached, she noticed with some disappointment she wasn't the only one with that idea. That disappointment turned to relief though when she noticed the dozen figures standing there were all wearing ADF armbands. They must have been other POWs as Norén was pretty sure she recognized a couple of them from before she had been put on ice.

Now that she had reinforcements, Norén abandoned all subtlety. Standing up straight, Norén marched over to the group.

"Corporal Lisbeth Norén, Corps of Alluvion Defense Force Engineers, 2nd Regiment," Norén announced, catching the attention of everyone present. "Who's in charge here?"

One of the soldiers, one whom Norén did not recognize, glanced at her. "I think you just volunteered to be it. You're the first NCO we've seen so far."

Norén raised any eyebrow. "There are really no officers or NCOs around here?"

"Aside from Lieutenant Avery? Nope."

Norén scoffed. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Either way, if she really was the only NCO, then it was true she was in charge. Good. She was about overdue for a promotion. The only problem was, she was hoping someone could tell her what was going on. She leaned in to address the man directly.

"Hey, so do you have any idea what's going on?" she asked him in a quieter voice. "Why were we released? And what are we standing around waiting for?"

"Your guess is about as good as mine Corporal," the man replied with a frown. "All I know is what Avery told me, which wasn't much."

Norén snorted. That wasn't very helpful. She had been hoping for a little more information regarding their situation so she could know what to prepare for. Oh well, might as well get ready for anything. "Section! Eyes here! Raise your hand if you got combat training!"

About a third of the group raised their hands, including the man she had initially talked to. She pointed at him.

"What's your name soldier?"

The man straightened, as if he was presenting himself on the parade ground. "Fusilier Gresham, Corporal!" he announced. "Of the Dawson Fusilier Regiment."

Norén inclined her head in acknowledgement, then glanced at the other three, but none of them were infantrymen. "Well then Fusilier Gresham, consider yourself my 2IC. Welcome, glad to have you around."

"Thank you Corporal!"

"GROUP, ATTENTION!"

Norén jerked as someone let out a yell, and she looked towards the entrance in time to see a UNSC officer, a major by the looks of it, enter the room. Before the brownshirts could raise their arms, the man waved his hand and barked, "As you were."

Ignoring everybody else, the Major marched through the room, the crowd parting around him, towards the ADF soldiers huddled in the corner.

"Which one of you Innies is in charge here?" he demanded.

Shoving her hands into her pocket, Norén sauntered forward.

"That would be me," she declared, deliberately not referring to him as a 'sir.' If he noticed her disrespect though, he didn't say a word. "Corporal Norén. What do you want?"

"I'm Major Thorne," he announced. "I'm not sure if you were aware of this but, as part of the ceasefire agreement, we were originally going to return all of you to ADF controlled territory. However, I'm afraid because the Covenant is moving faster than we anticipated, that's no longer a possibility."

Norén didn't even bother hiding her eye roll. Right, the "Covenant." She had to hand it to them though. These fascist were really sticking to their story, weren't they? Then again, what did she expect from a bunch of puppets?

"Because of that," Thorne continued, "I'm hereby by reassigning you to my battalion. You and the rest of your Innie buddies will be assigned to my staff as Detachment Alpha. As the ranking NCO of this group, you're in charge. Congratulations, _Sergeant_ Norén."

"Master Corporal."

"What?"

"Master Corporal," Norén repeated. "I'm a Corporal. Next rank would be Master Corporal, not Sergeant. Not that it matters because _you_ don't have the authority to promote me."

Much to her immense irritation, Thorne laughed. " _Sergeant_ ," he repeated, "you can call yourself whatever you want, just as long as you follow my orders. Senior Airman Shin!" he barked before Norén could protest, and a brownshirt instantly appeared by Thorne's side.

"Sir?"

"Bring these uh, 'soldiers' to the armory for immediate rearmament."

"We don't need no fucking babysitter," Norén automatically snarled before her brain registered what Thorne just said. Rearmament? The UNSC was giving them guns? She wasn't the only one that was confused by that statement.

"Sir? Is that wise?" Shin asked, and Norén smirked at his obvious discomfort.

"Airman, you know better than I that we're going to need every man, woman, and child who can fight if we hope to hold back the Covenant. Don't worry Airman," Thorne said reassuringly. "These guys have dedicated their lives to fighting for this colony; they're not going to turn against us once they realize that without our help, they're not going to be able to hold it."

Norén snorted. As if they needed the UNSC to defend their home from... whatever they claimed was coming. Still, as Thorne walked away, leaving Shin standing there looking uncertain, Norén couldn't help but goad, "Hey, piggy! You heard your puppet master! Your strings have been pulled. Bring us to the armory."

Shin whirled around and looked about ready to attack her, but then the building shook and he turned pale.

"Fuck. Alright, follow me," he ordered. "And double time it!"

Norén snorted. "Section! Move it out!" she barked.

She took off jogging after Shin. As she ran, she drifted closer to Gresham. "Hey Private," she whispered into his ear and he inclined his head to show he was listening. "As soon as we get guns, drop that motherfucker."

Gresham grinned in response.

They shoved their way out of the room and down another hall until they reached the armory.

"Armor and helmets are here," Shin barked, pointing at a series of cabinets. "Rifles on that shelf over there."

Norén immediately headed towards the weapons, and frowned when she realized they only had MA37s. She hated MA37s. Where were the ADF Falchion rifles? They were far superior to the UNSC shit. For one thing, they had a conventional rifle layout with the action and magazine in front of the trigger, automatically making them better rifles than the shitty bullpup design the UNSC seemed to love so much.

"What? Is the big bad Innie pussing out now?" Shin taunted as he noticed her hesitate. "Afraid to face what's coming next?"

Norén quickly grabbed one of the rifles off the rack. "What, your imaginary monsters? I'm hardly concerned about them."

Shin's face darkened. "You should be."

"Hey fascist!" Norén and Shin looked up as Gresham approached waving a rifle around. "These things aren't very useful without ammo. Where is it?"

Shin growled. Reaching into a nearby cabinet, he pulled out a heavy metal case and tossed it to the ground in front of them. "There you go you filthy animals."

The lid popped open, revealing a mess of pre-loaded magazines. Norén immediately grabbed one and inserted it into her rifle. She caught Gresham's eye and jerked her head in Shin's direction. Grabbing a random vest off the shelf, she walked over to Shin.

"Hey piggy!" she barked, drawing his attention to her as Gresham moved into position. "This shit don't fit! I know a fucking virgin like you has never seen a pair of titties before, so let me use small words to explain. I can't stuff these," she pointed at her chest, "into this. Where the fuck are the women's vest at?"

"What, can't you fucking Innies read?" Shin snarled before walking over to one of the shelves. As he did, Norén nodded at Gresham. "It's right fucking -"

 _ **WWWWWEEEEEEERRRRRNNNN WWWWWWEEEEERRRRNNN**_ _ **!**_

Norén jumped in surprise as the haunting wail of an air raid siren went off.

 _"Attention all personnel, we have inbound Covenant drop pods! Trajectory places them landing in Sectors 3, 7, 12, and 21! All fireteams, respond!"_

"Shit, that's right outside! Come on, we got to hit them before they can leave the drop zone!" Shin yelled as he threw the vest at Norén and ran for the door, unslinging his rifle as he did.

Gresham shot a questioning look at Norén, who shook her head. She was actually a bit curious to see how far the UNSC was willing to take this ploy of theirs. Tossing the vest on and grabbing a handful of magazines, Norén took off after Shin.

They burst outside to some sort of courtyard area. They were the first ones to arrive, but Norén barely took note as her attention was immediately drawn upwards. The entire night sky was lit up with explosions and tracers and missiles contrails and all sort of other things. Outshining all that was Fallow. Just like Avery had reported, the entire moon looked like it was on fire, making it look like a miniature star.

There was a loud _WHOOSH_ from behind her, and Norén turned around to see a missile rising up from somewhere further in the base, and she suddenly realized why they making so much noise: it was because the UNSC was launching interplanetary ballistic missiles.

Despite herself, Norén couldn't help but be impressed. The UNSC were really pulling out all the stops to make it seems like they were under attack. What was that, a holographic projector depicting the space battle? Some sort of spotlight taking the place of Fallow? Were they even outside?

"Set up right here!" Shin yelled over the noise, gesturing behind a wall of Hesco barriers.

Her section immediately looked at her and she shrugged before repeating the order. She had gone this far, might as well see if she could call the UNSC's bluff. Taking up position behind one of the barriers, she checked over her rifle, her numb fingers quickly getting back into the swing of things.

"INCOMING DROP PODS!"

Norén looked up to see what appeared to be four dozen fireballs streaking through the air, headed straight for them. As she watched, nearby anti-aircraft guns opened up, sending streams of tracers at them. One of the pods took a direct hit and blew up and even from this distance, Norén could feel the heat from the explosion.

She frowned. Someone was getting a little bit carried away with these effects.

With a loud shriek, a couple of the pods hit the ground in the middle of the courtyard, smashing through concrete with a tremendous _CRASH!_ She reflexively ducked as the pod door was launched in her direction, before rising back up in time to see -

Whoa. Okay, now that was pretty elaborate. Norén was honestly expecting some sort of ODST to climb out of the pod, so she was completely unprepared for what actually came out. A massive creature, standing maybe a little over two meters tall. This particular individual was clad in some sort of elaborate, maroon-colored armor that covered most of its body, however Norén could see the creature's gray leathery skin poking out from the joints. It looked like its legs were bending in the wrong direction and though it was a bit hard to tell, it looked like the creature had _two_ thumbs on each hand. The most noticeable feature though, was the creature's mouth: it seemed like it was made up of four separate mandibles, reminding Norén of those Predator aliens she had seen in that old sci-fi film. Geez, the UNSC wasn't very creative, were they?

As the creature opened its mouth and let out a roar of a challenge, Norén briefly wondered how the UNSC managed to create a creature like this. Was it a robot? A human wearing prosthetics? A combination of the two? Or maybe it was just a hologram. Whatever, she would figure out soon enough.

"Section, open fire!" Norén roared, then doubled down and opened up.

Tracer rounds streaked across the courtyard and slammed into the creature, but instead of instantly going down, the bullets were intercepted by a transparent yellow barrier.

Huh, maybe it really was a hologram.

The creature ducked down and whipped out what almost looked like an oversized tuning fork and began shooting back. Blue fireballs started impacting all around them, one of which flew right by Norén's head, splattering against the Hesco wall. Norén turned her head to see the fireball had instantly melted the wire mesh, as well as set the fabric on fire.

Okay. So... not a hologram. Maybe it was a robot. Only one way to find out.

"Gresham! Take three people and maintain suppressing fire! The rest of the Section, on me! Close the gap!"

"No, don't do that! Keep your fucking distance!" she heard their babysitter yell, but she ignored him. She knew how to fight a fucking war, thank you very much.

With a tremendous war cry, Norén burst out from around the barriers and charged straight towards the creature, firing as she ran. The creature saw her coming and, ignoring Gresham's gunfire, turned and immediately opened up on her group. Norén was vaguely aware of one of her men taking a hit to the chest and instantly going down, the lasers the creature was shooting cutting right through his armor like it wasn't there; fuck, of course the armor they got was fake! Shit, she didn't even think about that!

With the sound of her pulsating heartbeat filling her ears, drowning out all other noise, Norén got to within a couple meters of the creature, but instead of running away like the UNSC would have done, the creature instead braced itself just as Norén threw herself at it.

It was like she hit a fucking wall. She immediately bounced off the creature and hit the ground, the wind getting knocked out of her. The creature let out a bone chilling screech as it whipped out what looked like a miniature lightsaber and began attacking the rest of her Section.

The creature plunged the blade into the first man's skull, then whipped it out and slashing a second man across the throat. A third soldier ran up and tried to stab the creature with a bayonet, but the creature dodged the blow and retaliated with a sidekick to the man's chest, sending him flying across the courtyard. One of the other women in Norén's Section ran up and emptied her SMG into the creature's back. Most of the bullets were intercepted by the same yellow barrier from before, but this time there was a loud _POP_ and it fizzled away as the last bullet hit. The creature angrily growled, then lunged at the woman as she frantically reloaded. Grabbing her by the throat, it lifted her straight into the air with one hand, then slammed her into the ground. She didn't get back up again.

In the meantime, Norén, doing her best to recover her breath, was struggling to get back in the fight. She grabbed her rifle to shoot the creature in the back, but she was out of ammo. As the creature turned his attention to the remains of her Section, Norén hastily climbed to her feet, then slammed the butt of her rifle against the back of the creature's head. She hit him once, and then a second time. She tried to hit the creature a third time, but the strike never landed as the creature whirled around and grabbed ahold of the rifle. Norén tried to yank it free, but it was like trying to pull a piece of rebar out of a concrete slab for all the good it did. Then she noticed the creature was glaring at her.

Oh shit.

The creature drove the palm of his free hand right into her chest, throwing her back to the ground. Norén could feel her armor breaking under the blow. Before she had time to recover, the creature loomed overhead, its foot raised high, ready to stomp on her like she nothing but a bug. Norén reflexively covered her face with her arms.

 _KABAM!_

The creature staggered back and Norén hastily rolled out of the line of fire. She looked back to see Shin advancing on the creature, firing a shotgun.

 _klikt. KABAM! klikt. KABAM!_

The creature was sent reeling as two more massive hole's appeared in its chest. It whipped out its weird laser gun, but Shin shot it, causing it to explode, taking the creature's hand with it.

The creature roared in pain, but Shin didn't allow it to recover. He blew one of creature's legs off and as the creature dropped to his knees, Shin jammed the barrel into the creature's mouth and fired at point blank range.

"Get up you stupid cunt!" he screamed as the creature collapsed, grounded flesh, bone fragments, and purple blood leaking out from the hole in the back of its head. Not a robot. "On your feet!"

He grabbed Norén by the arm and hauled her back to the barrier, tossing her to the ground next to Gresham.

"I know you Innies try to get as close as possible to us so we can't take you out with indirect, BUT YOU CAN'T FUCKING DO THAT TO THE COVENANT!" Shin screamed as he quickly reloaded. "Covenant relish a close quarters fight! Elites are three times stronger and faster than you will ever be! You break formation again, I'm gonna leave your ass for the Hinge-Heads, do you FUCKING UNDERSTAND!?"

"Yes," Norén said, shaken by what she had seen.

"Good! Keeping on firing!"

Gresham tossed her another rifle, and Norén quickly peeked around the barrier. As she opened up on the remaining creatures, the... Covenant, Norén could only think of one thing -

\- That she _**might**_ have been wrong about this situation.

* * *

1\. Flip music is a genre of music in the Halo Universe. It was first depicted in _Halo: Combat Evolved,_ during one of the cinematics for the level, _343 Guilty Spark._ Sergeant Johnson was listening to it.

And that's that. In case you guys are wondering about Norén's lack of belief about the Covenant, I want to point out that at this point in her life, Norén is a fanatic. And one general characteristic that most fanatics share (insert your favorite group of fanatics to hate here,) is that once they believe they are right about something, they will continue to hold on to the belief despite all evidence to the contrary. Norén believes everything the UNSC says is a lie, therefore everything she sees and is told (right up until the moment she gets punched in the chest) must obviously be more lies on the part of the UNSC.

Anyways, that's it for now guys. This story is now officially over. Thanks for stopping by. Until next time, have a wonderful day.


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